Mist cloaked embankments


Blackweir pitches-

I feel the bike is the best form of transport through a city. That will come as no surprise at all. I spend much of my time waxing lyrical about the efficacy of the bike, the beauty of its form and the delight in its use. But then a morning comes along that is so staggering in its majesty that I need not add further explanation. I know that statement sounds over the top. I’m aware that it suggests gross exaggeration. But when I left the traffic jam on Station Road behind, with its angry motors exhaling fumes at passing school children and the seagull klaxon of vexed horns, I hopped my wheel over the kerb and rolled through a gate to a different world entirely – the mist cloaked embankments of the River Taff.

I passed another commuter at Blackweir, sat up, hands in pockets, balancing slowly on…

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