Flying without wings

I spent an hour and a half cleaning up an old racing bike (road bike to Americans) this afternoon (my family has 4 bikes, all relatively old, only 2 of which function at the time of writing). The only bike I've been riding for the last few months was the cheap "mountain" bike that my dad bought back when I was in Form Four. It's heavy, awkward, and to cap it all, has indexed shifters (a pet peeve of mine since they get screwed up so easily on the cheap bikes I've had experience with).

So I wiped the dust off the racing bike, inflated the tires, took off the back wheel, cleaned everything I could reach with petrol, lubricated everything that moves and TRIED to adjust the seat height. Also had my first encounter with Presta valves. Then I took it for a short spin.

FREAKING BLOODY AWESOME.

I should kick myself for waiting this long. I love fast bikes. They feel like flying. They feel like utter freedom. No engine, no battery, only me and Newton's laws of blissful, soaring motion. The wind on my face, steel under my hands and between my legs melding into my bones, tarmac hissing under my tyres...I think if I was forced to choose between going the rest of my life without cycling or without sex, I'd choose to keep the bikes.

(Sorry, guys!)