A quiet, pretty corner of Kent, lanes tucked away between interlocking major roads. Two laps of the same circuit, first clockwise, then anti-clockwise. A tight loop, repeating place names on signposts, never reached and pointed in different directions. Identical roads, the same hills, but dissimilar when approached from the opposite direction. Those fast sweeping drops become long drags, that steep out of the saddle listening to your breath climb turns into a sketchy descent eating away at brake pads. A second visit to all the controls before a final cup of tea back at the scout hut for the third time in a day.
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