Grace with her 81" fixed gear seemed like entirely the wrong thing to be riding.
With my head in this space, I stepped out under a summer sky so blue I thought I might cut myself on it. Despite all the reasons to hate this ride, I felt my mood lift. Cheltenham Road's broken and glass strewn, on and off bike lane, passed under my wheels. Hell's Highway stretch of the Princes through Hallam slid by without a single homicidal ute driver. Not a single door opened into my path on the climb of High Street, Berwick. Even my most reliable magpie neglected to swoop me outside Bunnings in Pakenham.
As the kilometers wafted over me, my legs turned circles without effort, stress or urgency. This is what riding a bike should be. No intervals, no timing marks, no strava segments, no efforts. The sound of the wind in the grass became more important than the fact that it was into my face. The colours, sounds and smells of the sky and earth invited me to join them in being a part of their dance.
Try getting that driving your drive home.