There’s nothing like cycling a strenuous uphill to focus your concentration on the here-and-now, to the exclusion of all else: there is only the cadence of your breathing as you narrow your vision to the pedals, counting one revolution after another. Here you are in your own bubble, and you fight the urge to look ahead to see what’s remaining of the hill. The satisfaction of reaching the crest is reward enough — until the next uphill.
There’s something almost mystical about those early hours of the morning, between day and night, when the sun gently rises above the horizon, its warm glow casting long shadows as it slowly shakes the day from its slumber.
Nous étions bouche-bée. Notre taxi roulait sur la piste d’atterrissage pour nous servir de “follow me car”! Nous venions d’atterrir à Hvar, un aérodrome folklorique en Croatie où les seuls êtres vivants avant notre arrivée étaient un âne et un cheval, « le Ground Maintenance Crew » selon les dires du chauffeur de taxi.
We were not used to such luxury. There was someone waiting for us in a “Follow Me” car. Another brought the fuel truck to our plane as his colleague was tying it down. And capping all this was the courtesy bus to the terminal.
It was a clear blue sky over a clear blue sea, and we were cruising at 130kts, and all was well with the world.
