My left leg has finally healed sufficiently that I can go on my daily bicycle ride; my right foot has not, but I can push off from the heel and that is good enough.
Riding in East Anglia is often accompanied by a crashing wind coming straight off the Fens. The best part is when the wind is at your back, relentlessly driving you across the flat fields, nearly knocking the bike off the path. It reminds me of being a kid on the ferry to Canada and jumping up on deck, letting the air carry me aloft.
But the wind can only be at your back in one direction; riding home again it is also relentless, each stroke of the pedal moving the bike only incrementally forward. I know this, know that I’ll also have to ride with one hand holding down my skirt, but I would still choose the difficult ride if that is what is required to experience the other.
After my ride I walked out to Lammas Land and the folly, listening to an album I’ve never heard before, the wind whipping my hair up and around my face until I could no longer see anything.