Forty Minutes Each Way
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I climb on my bike, and its two Os go round and round. It’s eight o’clock already and I have no time to lose, so over the hills I ride and swiftly I go under the overpass.
Today, as every working day, my office waits for me at the end of this winding road. To get there in a flash, I could have taken my car, but then I would not have enjoyed the smell of freshly cut grass from the fields along the path, nor would I have felt misty droplets turn to steam at the touch of my skin while pedaling through a low hanging cloud.
To be honest beyond doubt, I must say that traveling this way is a bit harder than driving around. I know that, my legs know that, even my son and daughter know that every time the alarm clock wakes them half-an-hour before than when I rode t...
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