found this bit of Burt writing, saws it all really about what bikes & biking mean to me (and hopefully you guys too)
by Jo Burt
Back in the front room after a week when I'd been soaked, baked, frozen, frightened, exilerated, woken sleepless, made to giggle like a simpleton, destroyed, pushed to within an inch of tears and got strong again to pedal across an entire mountain-range. Home now and having to do the mundane things, go to the shops, get food, wash clothes, answer correspondence, work, feed the cat. Feels boring. More than boring - not even necessary. There's a beautiful selfishness and a wonderful simplicity to getting a body and bike from one place to the other. Nothing to worry about but muttering to the top of the next hill, surviving the descent, going strong on the bits in-between, and making sure you get enough fuel inside to keep going. The single-minded endurance of the day and the recovery of sleep. Nothing else mattered, no bills, no work, no sheeple, no waiting in a queue, no mundane, just the now, just the goal. Nothing to do with the tickle of the adrenalin rush or the junkie-fix of experience, more the feeling that the day had a purpose, the need to get somewhere. Wonderful in a floaty life to actually do something, not wander along without motive, the feeling of actually completing. Just got back and want to be off again, plan the next big thing, no matter where, just somewhere arbitary that has to be reached, some false direction. But the cat giving me a "Welcome home Dad" cuddle was nice.
Â© Jo Burt
Outcast, issue 8