The theraputic blast

Two or three times a week I really do appreciate how lucky I am to work from home much of the time.

It’s not the blissful ‘commute’ across the landing each morning to fire up the laptop, or the convenience of being around when the boiler needs fixing.

No, it’s the ability to finish work, change into the lyrcas, grab a steed from the garage and pedal a few clicks over some Saddleworth hills.

It’s a cleansing process, an hour or so of shaking off the hefty baggage of work and injecting some much-needed separation between labour and leisure.

Commuters will claim they have this division twice a day… something I understand as I commuted across London daily for five years.

These post-work rides feel different, though. There isn’t the traffic for a start or, more importantly, the urgency to get home. If time, inclination and the other half allow, I can be out for hours.

I try and make the most of the long summer evenings up here as the lunchtime sprints of the winter months don’t feel the same, somehow.

Going back to work after a ride taints it somewhat.


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