Readers´voice
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June. There is something almost absurdly perfect about it all.
The scents in the air. Warm tarmac, freshly cut grass, and the faint promise of summer rain that never quite arrives. The roads are there, waiting. Dry, inviting, as though they too have been longing for this moment. You barely need to think anymore. Your body remembers. The vision, the line, the feel of the bike. It's all there again.