Summer –

Number three has always been my favorite. This number was most often used by my name in the school diary. When I started playing football as a kid, I was on the defensive and with this number on my shirt. At that time I was also an altar boy, and because Jesus fell three times under the cross… Youth associations have their own rules, and the mature mind still propagates this number. Not because of the philosophy of the Way of Life, according to which the vibration of this number is related to artistry (apologies, lats?). But mostly because when this temperature figure shows up in the weather forecast, I know the day ahead is going to be great for a bike.

I don’t know anyone who has had the same. And no one shares my excitement about the announced heat wave. But when the weather lady warns of Armageddon’s temperature, Mr. Krzysztof in his hands and lubricates the chain, getting ready for a long journey. And no one there at 6am or after sunset. Bang, noon, noon and boom, in the middle of the day, right in the greatest heat of the blast furnace.

The situation a few days ago, when all of Poland already started thinking about slaughtering rams as an offering to the gods of the sun, in order to dim them a little. 12:27. I get in, go, drive a few hundred meters. I feel a strange softness on the tires. After all, I hit eight spheres just before I left, did I get a flat tire just outside the house? I stand, check, tires as hard as stone. It’s not them, it’s asphalt. Warmed by the sun at its peak, it kneads gently under the weight of the body, despite his BMI of three (thankfully) not starting yet. I’m going. Warms up. Although I don’t feel it. As you turn, the flow of air takes the pressure off the fiery air. Another signal from the underside of the body. Feet burn. Did I clamp the SPDs too tight? I always do it the same way. Again, it’s the temperature that warms the feet at the start of the ride to the point that they swell up inside the shoes and start to burn underneath. In the blink of an eye, despite the bandana, the sweat will probably overflow the glasses. And the bar tape gets so hot that you have to change hands more often. I smile, drive on and start to feel why I like it so much. Softness. A warm softness surrounds me. I love riding in such a warm cocoon, it never weakens me and even causes excitement.

On that day I left the city along the section between the Warsaw, Grota and North bridges. It is always intense at the beginning of summer, when the grasses have not yet been mowed. The route runs along the embankment and there are shrubs on both sides. Those on the left are at shoulder height, those on the right on a hill, so even higher and overhead. If you drive there, you will find yourself in a paranormal parotunnel. The bushes trap the heat and are set in motion by the wind, which this time delivers directly onto the path. It feels like you’ve driven a few miles between a row of locomotives lying on their side, constantly blowing hot steam from the chimneys at you. The temperature is more than 30 degrees, the wind is almost 30 kilometers, which pushes it 30 degrees into your body and warms the temperature to about 40 C.

And again, it’s weird, but it makes me feel really good. Though I’m on fire, I’m swimming. In the whole and in moments. Because while driving, the wind cools you down and you don’t feel any heat or creep. But when I stand, I have the impression that my whole body is wrapped in a burning foil. And then I always have the same feeling and the same thought. “Mother, but it keeps you warm. God damn I love it.”

And when you finally get out of town, the next dimension of summer comes in. Biological. It is one of the elements that creates the intensity of the driving experience at this time of year. Wind in the ears, warmth on the skin, noise in the chest. The smell of dry cones in the forest, a breeze of ripening fruit in the orchards. All the bumblebees bouncing on your forearms, clouds of invisible flies crashing into your glasses, inconspicuous creatures you occasionally spit out of your mouth. When it gets that hot, of course I have to take in deeper gulps of air, but in some parts it’s impossible, because clouds of insects, as if tossed handfuls at me with an invisible hand, press against my face more than crowds of customers for Biedra during the pre-May promotion for the brewery and grill sausage.

And road users. Homies, friends, cyclists. I was recently driving near Warsaw and a group of about fifteen people passed me. You can immediately see that with the proverbial horses. Without a drop of sweat on my forehead, they passed me with such speed and lightness that even if I had to blow out my lungs and also tear off the biceps, quadriceps, and semitendosus, I wouldn’t have caught up with them. And they just swept on and on and on. Without a trace of frustration or jealousy, I watched the retreating mini-platoon. In my mind, I was more incredulous that you can cycle so fast, and I was thrilled at how beautiful they looked in this row going beyond the horizon.

Moments later I passed a wheat field. I turned my head to the right and drove, looking for a moment at the ears of corn. They, in turn, passed before my eyes with an even line of solid colors. And all this space rippled gently, like a calm sea seen from the water level.

And those village shops where you eat yesterday’s sandwiches while sitting on a hot curb. And those city paths where you smell the scent of the girls you pass on the way back. And these two thoughts sum up a day that portrays the entire season of the year. Cycling is beautiful. Summer is great.

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