The day drags on with uncertainty, driving me to the point of extreme fatigue, unmanageable migraines, and near the point of vision loss from spreadsheet scrutinization. It is at these times that my body demands liberation into the LED-devoid skies and greenery of suburbia.
Roughly three months had passed since my last cycling adventure. Lack of motivation had been owed to unbearable levels of troposphere moisture, along with a distinct preference for familiarization of new choreography. The latter was currently less appealing in the face of untreated shoulder pain; moreover, my eyes begged direly for a break.
The descent made for rather unenjoyable bike handling, but was a great car-less/board-less option otherwise.
Well into the marshes, I continued along the dusty, dirty path until a clearing of the Credit River. I proceeded along until reaching the underside of the 403. I hadn't initially been aware of my location, and had even assumed to be underneath Eglinton. From the rumbles above my head and utilization of bents though, I should have known that the grade separation belonged to a high-speed, heavy volume passage of sorts.