As good as it gets

     Left Ballintoy at 8:40, seems to be about same time every morning. The first few miles got the body, particularly the legs, worked in for the days ride.  The first hour included some climbs which brought my average mph down to 8.1; that is until I reached a plateau and start my descent. The winds picked suddenly about a half mile into the coast.  Twenty-five mph crosswinds slammed into me, pushing me around like a piece of paper. It was not the first time I have experienced this dangerous condition.  Clamping  down on my breaks, the bike slowed to under fifteen mph, slow enough to control the bike. Downhill runs can exceed thirty mph but my comfort zone is under twenty-five.  In the Rockies last summer, I hit thirty-seven until I lost my nerve. The "yewt" I often rode with would ride the descents brakeless, exceeding forty-five. Not me, an accident at that speed could hurt, speed kills.  After my morning break with twenty-one miles behind me, I began one of the nicest rides I have experienced. Twenty-five glorious miles of totally flat terrain, winding along, following the coast line.  Light blue shimmering water on my left with mixture of stone and kelp shoreline to surf covered beachs with emerald green cliffs on my right. The wind was at my back the whole way. You had to be along for the ride to appreciate the splendor of it all.

      Forty-six miles brought me to Larne where I settled into a campsite.  Fixed a tear in my sleeping bag, adjusted my bar bag, cleaned up and hoofed into the city to find some dinner

and a draft.  Tomorrow, I ride into Belfast and beyond, could be tricky.