Her smile was pure, 100% British: honest, sincere and untouched by modern dentistry. She was young, but clearly a seasoned road cyclist - nothing about her had that air of 'new' that many other cyclists (especially, dare I say, female ones) have - the little rucksack, the lycra clothing, the bike itself all had the weathered look of things that have seen hundreds of miles.
All this I observed in a fraction of a second, as she overtook me on the way back home, just at the north end of Heaton Park. I was huffing and puffing with effort, trying to keep my blooming knees in their comfort zone, while she just seem to effortlessly glide past me.
By the time I reached the M60 I'd lost all sight of her.