Pathetic fallacy, signposting, being a little bit trite. Sometimes life is like that; cliché.
The weekend had been a blur on the bikes with a wonderful ride followed by a horrendous one that actually made me swear out loud at the scenery, which was somewhat not so magnificent, as my buddy had taken me up a demented climb on a glass-strewn road with the temperature rising with each torturous turn of the peddles. The proverbial ‘bollocks’ leapt forth from my gob after being told to don a helmet by one little fascist peloton and then being finger-wagged by a mountain-biker who informed me that that road was not suitable for a road bike. I agreed and said it was my own personal challenge and secret hell. My friend was up ahead somewhere ‘beasting’ himself with the bike as a form of self-flagellation.
I was about to swear again when…
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