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The Course Of True Love Ever Did Run Smooth


If I come back from a ride That Way I have to go along That Road. I'm on it for less than a quarter mile but the surface is crappy. Really crappy. Rough pocked blacktop, pothole scabs, a white concrete base with layer upon layer of tarmac botched over the top leaving furrows every 15 feet or so where the original seams in the concrete were.

Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, kerthunk, thunk, thunk, thunk. Thunk.

Which after 4 hours in the saddle is rather weary.

But somewhere between the last time and the now that stretch of road has all been mended. Beautiful smooth brand new fast deep thick black tarmac. No more thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, kerthunk, thunk, but shoosh.

Just shoooosh.

Two girls standing by the side of the road waiting to cross are a little bemused to see a man on a bicycle come round the corner, audibly gasp, sit up in the saddle and raise his arms in a victory of joy.


Jo Burt has spent the majority of his life riding bikes, drawing bikes and writing about bikes. When he's not scribbling pictures for the whole gamut of cycling media he writes words about them for and when he's not doing either of those he's pedaling. Then in whatever spare minutes there are in between he's agonizing over getting his socks, cycling cap and bar-tape to coordinate just so. And is quietly disappointed that yours don't He rides and races road bikes a bit, cyclo-cross bikes a lot and mountainbikes a fair bit too. Would rather be up a mountain.

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