You wake up. It's early. Too early by far. A thursday morning. Far enough into the week to make the weekend tantalisingly, frustratingly close - but not close enough that you don't have to get up.
It's time to go to work. It's cold and it's still dark. Is riding 12 miles to work really a good idea?
You get kitted up, winter gear keeping the warmth of the morning cup of tea inside. You fire the bike up and slice your way through the village and out into the countryside, just the sound of the engine and the songs inside your head for company.
The road emerges from between a canopy of trees and the landscape opens up before you. You open the throttle and chase the pinky-orange glow of the rising sun. The traffic's light and the road is twisty.
You hit the city and the traffic. Rows of metal cages crawling towards the centre. You are uncaged, you can slip between the bars, use the space that noone else can.
You arrive at work. 8 hours at a desk, but at the end of it there's the ride home....
Would I swap commuting on the bike for the car? Not a chance.
I originally wrote this as a blog post in October 2005. It's only short, but it captured the feeling of the morning ride to work so well I thought it was worth resurrecting here.