{"id":1126,"date":"2012-04-11T11:54:47","date_gmt":"2012-04-11T11:54:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.phillconnell.com\/blog\/?p=1126"},"modified":"2017-01-12T04:05:47","modified_gmt":"2017-01-12T04:05:47","slug":"in-search-of-my-cyclingmojo","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.phillconnell.com\/blog\/in-search-of-my-cyclingmojo\/","title":{"rendered":"In Search Of My Mojo<\/b>"},"content":{"rendered":"

I was born in 1969. \u00a0So, apart from the less-than-3 months in which I cried, poo’d and drank my way through the 60’s, I was a child of the 1970’s.<\/p>\n

As soon as I was old enough to get weekly “spends” (10p a week<\/em>) and be allowed to walk to the nearest shop, I learned that the greatest value for money that a 5 year-old could realise was to exchange 10p for a mixed bag of 3-per-penny chews.<\/p>\n

Three-for-a-penny chews came in two varieties:<\/p>\n

    \n
  1. Black Jacks<\/strong>: \u00a0Turned your tongue black. Tasted of an unidentifiable fruit-based chemical. Were vaguely racist.<\/li>\n
  2. Mojos<\/strong>: \u00a0Were fruit coloured. Tasted of chemically-enhanced fruit. Weren’t socially questionable.<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

    So, I spent my money on Mojos. Every week.<\/p>\n

    \"OK<\/a>

    Where do you find YOUR Mojo?<\/p><\/div>\n

    Now I’m 42, I can’t buy Mojos at three for a penny. \u00a0As far as I’m aware, I can’t buy them anywhere. \u00a0So, on ride nights and every other Saturday, I have to look for my Mojo within myself.<\/p>\n

    Sometimes I find my Mojo. Sometimes I don’t. \u00a0Sometimes other people find it for me, and sometimes other people drag me out on my bike even when I can’t find my Mojo. \u00a0At these times I’m grateful.<\/p>\n

    At other times, when I can’t find my Mojo, I sit on the sofa in my riding gear, wondering where my Mojo is. \u00a0Those aren’t the good times.<\/p>\n

    Where do you find yours?<\/p>\n

    Share with your friends:<\/h3>