The articles about training regimens and speed trials and serious competitions didn't really move me. Neither did the fancy and highly expensive equipment. Clipping my shoes to my pedals inspires only visions of some very spectacular crashes, and those tight little outfits on my way-to-close-to-fifty body are out of the question.
But I loved it anyway. There were pictures and stories of amazing trails and haunting back country roads. None of them, in this issue, were close to where I live, none were really particularly likely to be places I could ever travel, but still they were just enough within the brush of possibility to dream.
Best were the articles about casual riding for the joy of the open air and the slow motion peepshow of the world in motion. It sends me out again day after day in the longing to feel the pull of my muscles, the wind on face, and the peace in the spinning of my tires.
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