Warning - contains sweary stuff (it's a parody)
Choose life. Choose audaxing. Choose mudguards. Choose Brooks. Choose a fucking big saddlebag, choose a map trap, choose route sheets, choose XR, RB, S/O and dynamos. Choose rain, wind, sleet and snow. Choose the only type of bike that never gets stolen. Choose Sudocrem. Choose a lucky hat and a gilet that went out of fashion in the 1980s. Choose flapjacks in a range of fucking flavours. Choose a 600 and wonder what the fuck you're doing up a Welsh mountain in the dark. Choose sitting in a village hall trying not to make eye contact with your mind-numbing, spirit crushing fellow riders, drinking orange juice out of a Tetrapak. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, babbling about the 50/50 rule in some urine-soaked bus shelter, nothing more than an embarrassment to the fucking sportives they spawned to replace you.
Choose your future. Choose audaxing.
