Fifty kilometres of thinking nothing

There is a particular silence that arrives somewhere around the third hour on a bike. Your legs are tired enough that the brain stops negotiating. The river next to me kept moving. So did I. And for the first time in months, I was not arguing with myself.

I used to confuse this with running away. It is not. Running away is when you return and the problem is louder. Recovery is when you return and the problem is the same size, but you are slightly bigger.