Everybody loves a good wedding

Congratulations to my sister, Helen and her new husband Chris. They put on quite a do for us all, and in the words of my son...'we had one of the funnest days of our lives'.
Somehow they manged to generate a 12 hour window of perfect sunny weather. We left the Island in monsoon conditions, but by the time we reached this hotel by the Thames at Shillingford, the sun was shining and the sky was (mostly) blue. Thankfully we didn't have to sit through a ridiculous hell-and-brimstone service, so in no time at all the legal duties were finished and we boarded a river boat and cruised down the river to a restaurant called the Beetle and Wedge.Not bad scran.
The highlight of the day for me was the steamed syrup sponge and custard. It was my Etape-carbo-loading duty to eat two portions of this most delicious and perfect creation. Now I don't praise other people's cooking too easily and I am something of an expert in the field of syrup sponge.This was exceptional, but the gal was a bit stingy with the custard. Thankfully they didn't try and serve it with cream... a serious crime.

Today it has tipped it down with rain again, so there was no chance to get out on the bike. Instead I spent a large part of the day making tea while my mate was on his knees in the kitchen with his head in my aga. When we moved here we inherited an oil-fired aga which has worked perfectly until about twelve months ago. Since then we have been plagued by problems with the quality of our oil supply which seems to clog the burner resulting in low temperatures and an erratic flame, which eventually goes out. Apparently there is a thing called 'diesel bug' whereby an algae lives in the oil and produces a gritty debris which blocks the burner mechanism. This bug is only a problem if you have a plastic tank, instead of the old-fashioned metal ones. It's something to do with the condensation and lack of algal-bloom inhibitors in the feeding tanks. Anyway, our aga has been completely out for 48 hours and I was unable to get a professional to help. So, I did what I always do in these circumstances, and phoned my mate John. He is an honorary saint, and has the ability to mend anything. Round he comes wearing his shiny silver armour suit and promptly dismantled the complex burner mechanism bit by bit until we discovered this small copper tube which has a thin slit cut into it through which the oil is supposed to flow. Obviously the slit was blocked until we cleaned it. Hey presto, the oil flows again, and the house is slowly warming up again.

Tomorrow is the British Etape. I have to admit I wish I was taking part. I'm feeling fit again. Not only will it be a great occasion, but I could do with the ride. I've have backed off completely this week in an attempt to ensure that I don't overdo it, and keep myself healthy. Hence I haven't swung the leg over since last Tuesday. This feels like an eternity. It's ridiculous. I have read that research has proven that athletes can desist from training for 3 weeks without any negative effects on their levels of fitness. I don't want to test this theory. I bet all keen cyclists are familiar with the feelings of frustration when circumstances combine to prevent you getting in the riding which you think you should be doing. I think I've just got to be sensible at the moment and remind myself of all the hard work which I have done in the last 3 months.
Hopefully I'll get a 50 miler in tomorrow. I'll keep the pace/heart rate down and see how I feel on Monday. The big day is approaching fast.

Here's to the new Mr and Mrs Harris.

Sleeping my way back to fitness

I've woken up early today, and actually feel refreshed after last night's sleep. Phew.
I've felt really rubbish for the last few days. A week ago I did a record time for my 20 mile route to Niton and back, but it left me feeling heavy-legged. Then I did a moderately-paced 60 miles earlier this week and have felt tired and lethargic ever since. I'm not sleeping well, and have a sore throat. I'm pretty sure I've been overtraining, so I've done nothing since, and have been getting to bed as early as I can.

It's quite interesting the way I'm able to write that 'I did 60 miles earlier this week ' almost as if it's nothing. It's an indication of how far I've come since I entered the Etape in march. We were having some brickwork repaired by a friend at the time, and I remember coming back from a 40 mile ride one day and virtually collapsing on the garden bench. My mate asked me how far had I been, and he was amazed when I proudly replied,'40 miles'. It seemed like such a massive distance! I can also remember hobbling about like Ken Dodd's granddad, and having to lie on the settee for an hour before dragging myself upstairs for a soak in a hot bath. Clearly, I now consider a 40-miler to be little more than a gentle warm-up, or at least, a distance that I can ride at pretty much full chatter in little more than two hours. It really is amazing how the body can be adapted for a purpose, and let's hope my body remembers all the hard work.

I've always said one of the main challenges facing me has been to get all the necessary riding done at the same time as being a proper Dad, doing my job, and also not becoming totally obsessed with the bike. I hope I've succeeded. BUT.. I have become a bit of bike nutter. I have been seen weighing my bottle cages and inner tubes. I read about bikes all the time, and study data and other information on bike manafacturers websites. Despite having a top quality carbon-fibre Specialized machine, I am still hankering after getting something else, something better, more exotic. It's ridiculous! in the guitarist circles, we have a name for this behaviour. GAS... which stands for guitar-acquisition-syndrome. It can be a seriously bank-balance-damaging disease. I am reminded by a small voice with a heavy Scottish accent that 'one can only ride one bike at a time'.

The weather is terrible... very windy and heavy rain.
Predictably, I'm going to a wedding. My little sister is finally going to make it all legal. She's marrying an Arsenal fan. Interestingly, after the service in a hotel, we're all getting on a boat and will then drift or more likely motor down some river to a pub or restaurant, where we're going to have a nosh up.It all sounds a bit strange to me. Given the weather, I will be taking my wakeboard and wetsuit. It will be nice to see my family together, apart from my poor old Mum who has dementia. She would have loved to have been there today, but it is too much hassle and stress to get her there. Sad.

My 10 year-old lad was summonsed into his teacher's office this week. Her demeanour suggested he was about to get a serious ticking off. 'Do you know there's a mouse in your schoolbag?' She opened his bag and there was a wee furry creature. 'No miss,' he replied, ' I didn't know it was there, and it's not a mouse. It's a pygmy shrew!' Evidently, our cats have released the little varmint in the kitchen and it had taken up refuge in the dark smelly receptacle that serves as his kitbag.

Finally, best wishes to our Pat, who is retiring today. She's a full-on Scouser. We've nailed down all moveable office furniture, the carpets, curtains etc. IT'S A JOKE! Calm down. I wish her well.

Carpe diem.

With less than 3 weeks to go before the big day, I had hoped that I would be bursting with vim and vigour. It's not quite happening like that at the moment. I think I'm suffering from overtraining, and need more rest and recuperation. It's frustrating, because I would like to be putting in a hard 7 days of hard hilly at the moment. But no. I need to heed the warning signs from my body. Good food, more rest, and gentle recovery rides only. It's not good for the psychological side of things either, because the self-doubt demons are burrowing into my brain.

One of the hardest factors during this Etape project has been the time constraints which face an old dad, who is trying to juggle wife, children, job, hobbies, etc plus a little bit of bike riding on the side. Luckily, I'm on leave next week, and I'm going to hopefully take it very easy. I'm desperate to get some bass fishing in.

The ghastly weather isn't helping. I know I need to be prepared to ride through any conditions, but we all prefer some hot sun on our backs. There is no doubt that a bit of good old fashioned British sun has a medicinal uplifting effect, even if we're all going to die of skin cancer.

Some of the patients I've been scanning at work have really been depressing this last week. Let me tell you all, count your blessings, make the most of your good health and live for the day. None of us know what's around the corner. Unless you've entered the Etape, in which case you know you face 9 hours or so of pain and suffering perched on a tiny hard saddle.

That's it. I need an early night.

Rock 'n' Roll takes its toll.

It's tipped down with rain today, non-stop. I've been resting.

Last night we gigged at The Anchor in Cowes. It was a great night.
The pub was steaming after the Round The Island Race (which was won by Ellen Macarthur). When we rolled up at 8 o'clock we could hardly get through the door and it took forever to lug the gear from the car through the throng trying not to get tetchy when people continually got in our way. Then we had to set up in very cramped conditions with people eating their evening meals on tables right up to the foot of the stage. It can be pretty stressful setting up the PA with limited time and no real chance to test the sound levels and optimise the settings. There were probably 30 people who had come specifically to see us,joining the yachty set and the local Cowes mafia. Once the diners had finished, the tables and chairs were whisked away and we could get going.First song, a very ropey Are You Going To Go My Way.
The first set was somewhat iffy, but after the break we really played well and got into a groove. The trick is to play a varied set which appeals to everyone, and yet try and build the tempo and excitement towards the end. We had a good old singsong with 500 miles and Chelsea Dagger, and got them all dancing (and laughing ) with I Don't Feel Like Dancing. Then we unleashed the beast... Breaking The Law, Ace of Spades, Enter Sandman, I love Rock'n'Roll to end. It was almost midnight but the place was still heaving and after 5 minutes of chanting for a second encore we left them with I Believe In A Thing Called Love.
Thanks to everyone who came, danced, cheered and yelled.
Thanks to the bloke who ripped his shirt off during Ace of Spades and threw it at the bass player!
Thanks to Clare and Laura for asking us to play 500 miles.

The downside to gigs like these comes when everyone is making their way home. We have to strip all the gear down and load the car up. Then home, 30 mins away, before unloading again the amps, cabinets, guitars, stands and other cases of mics, leads etc. It's all heavy and unwieldy, and needs to be stowed away inside the porch. The babysitter needs to be taken home too. Then we wind down with a pot of tea and toast before getting off the bed at 2am. Sleep comes easily.
Needless to say, we're knackered the day after. Is it worth it? Yes, for sure, especially after a gig like last night. But not if we've had a lacklustre night.

So, I've done very little riding this past week. I'm not worried. I needed a good rest. I'll be packing in some intense speed and hill sessions and a couple of fast long rides in the next 3 weeks. I'm feeling reasonably confident. I just need to keep it going, keep healthy and raise a bit more money.

Getting faster...

This is a picture of Pic Saint Loup near Montpellier, which Chris used as a warm up ride during my recent visit. Since then Chris has started a really interesting blog describing some of the problems which he has encountered personally and professionally since moving from England to Montpellier.It's a heart-on-the-sleeve sort of thing and therefore very interesting. www.otgeuro.blogspot.com
This past week has all been about shaking off the fatigue, but last night the current Mrs C returned from her sojourn to the jolly middle-class ladies tennis camp on The North Island, and gave me the chance for an evening 20 mile time-trial.
I've been doing the same route from Brook to Niton since I started training in March. I really gave it the full berries last night despite a gusty wind, a squall of hailstones and some disturbingly localised lightening. Hence the last 5 miles were on wet roads which didn't feel very secure but I finished like a demon with my lungs protruding from my nostrils in a new Island record ... I finally cracked the 20 mph average. Top Northern semi-pro rider Jacko said he would buy me a set of go-faster stripes when I cracked that particular figure. I used my newish Polar HRM and can report an average of 144 bpm and a max of 164 during this ride. I think I'm a bit of a slow beater with a resting rate of 42. I've never seen my max above 166 to date.

Annoyingly, I suffered with the low back ache again, and the same problem emerged during my Cotswolds ride last weekend. I suspect the pain is proportional to the amount of effort I'm making, and hence only emerges when I'm trying to ride faster than 'average'. Bike-shop mogul Adrian almost wet himself at the site of my reversed stem this week, and labelled my bike a 'chopper'. Boy, he's a witty dude. He's pissed that I haven't bought anything from his shop for about 5 years. But, I agree with him, so the stem has been reversed. He also thinks I should have a longer stem, longer than 100mm, because he thinks my bike geometry is a bit cramped for my physique. He could well be right, but unless I buy a new stem and try it I'm not going to know am I? How many of us can afford to buy stuff just to try it?
I'm also very conscious of the proximity of L'Etape, and the inadvisability of trying out modifications at this late stage.

I mentioned that I witnessed a nasty 'off' during the Cotswolds' ride when a bunch of us were descending at 35mph down a narrow country lane. A dog ran across our path between farm buildings and the poor bloke in front slid off after testing his brakes to their limit. He left a lovely black tyre mark. I thought he had fractured his femur by the way he was holding his thigh, and he turned a sickly shade of white. After 5 minutes or so he started to perk up and asked, 'How's my bike?' , so at that point we knew he wasn't too bad. Then his mate took a long look at the rubber streak on the road and chipped in with, 'You're not the only one who has left a skid mark after that'. Funny. I felt very vunerable after seeing someone fall at that sort of speed, and when we got going again after calling an ambulance, we took it easy for at least a mile. It's best not to think about falling off.

I can confirm that the rider who fell was OK with no serious damage apart from the obvious road-rash. You know I've been there (see my blog on April 18th).

Tonight we're gigging at The Anchor in Cowes. This is usually a great gig, and it should be buzzing after the annual Round the Island Race which took place today, starting and finishing in Cowes. That's a boat race, by the way, not bikes or cars.

Good luck to all those riders who are doing the Dragon Ride tomorrow. I'd be there too if it wasn't for tonight's gig. No matter, I'm planning a fast 40 miler tomorrow, weather permitting.

Bring back Andy Roberts and Viv Richards, and then we’ll see how good our team isn’t!

I feel a little churlish in not being, shall we say, ecstatic regarding England’s 3-0 whitewash of the West Indies’ cricket team. I know our boys can do no more than beat whoever turns out in front of them, but who really cares when the opposition looked so… lame? Remember, just a few months ago the Aussies slammed us 5-0.

I’m old enough to remember the golden era when there were no weak teams in world cricket, and a test series victory over anyone was quite an achievement. (OK, allow me to use my rose-tinted viewing devices). For a time, the Windies were top of the tree. Grumpy old Clive Lloyd at the helm with those funny NHS specs, Kallicharan, Kanhai and the legend that is Viv Richards would score the runs. The attack was all about pace. Despite getting a few batterings from Roberts, Holding, Garner and Croft, it was always a committed exciting game of cricket. If we beat that lot, we could be proud.
It’s sad to see how far the West Indies have fallen. Will they be back?
It wasn’t until Botham, Brearley and Bob willis came on song that we could stand up to them. I’m glad old Beefy has been honoured. There haven’t been too many Pakistani protests about his knighthood. You do wonder which muppet decided to give a gong to Rushdie? If ever there was a decision designed to inflame the situation in Pakistan/Iraq/Afghanistan/Iran etc then this was it. Well done to that idiot. Don’t get me started.

I’m still a bit disgruntled about my broken chain during the Circuit of the Cotswolds on Sunday. I was going really well, in a nice group, at a decent pace. Apart from that, it was great. The weather held up, the scenery was fabulous, and the roads and route suitably testing. Cleeve Hill was a 1in 4 climb out the back of a housing estate. Lots of grunting and groaning up that particular climb. By the way, how many people carry a chain-splitting device?

Everyone except me turned up early for the start (I had a 90 min-plus drive after the 6 am ferry) and then had to join a long queue before we were allowed off at 2 minute intervals. There was lots of chitchat about the usual bike equipment stuff, and I could hear a group discussing the Etape. One of them was doing it, and an opinion was voiced that it was too difficult this year and had put some off from entering. This may be so. With my inexperience, I feel like I’m entering a large void. I am doing everything I can to prepare myself, but until I get to Foix, it is all educated guesswork. The Rapha website preview is really good. I’ve had quite a few private emails from blogreaders offering advice, and I’m grateful to everyone who has taken the time to write. I have not underestimated the challenge. Don’t worry… I’m going to be drinking plenty.

I have to admit that the fact that people are saying this year’s route is super-tough makes me feel more motivated. It’s analogous to the cricket. If the route or opposition was ‘easy’ I guess most of the participants would not get a sense of achievement and satisfaction at the end of it. Maybe, our cricket team feel like they’ve done the job, but haven’t really proven themselves? I’m not being conceited to admit that the Circuit of the Cotswolds felt quite comfortable. So it should … if I think what I’ve got to get up,down and along in less than 4 weeks.

One feature of this week… I am dog-tired. No wonder. Last week was well over 250 miles of tough riding and only 2 hours of sleep on Saturday. Furthermore, the current Mrs C has gone away to The North Island for tennis camp, so I am in full time dad mode. I’ve struggled to juggle jobs, and 3 hours of driving to and fro ferrying daughter No.1 yesterday was no fun. Then there’s the washing, tidying, sandwiches, emptying dishwashers, finding clothes, money, towels, bus passes and so on which is incessant. I’m humbled by the amount of unseen chores that my wife obviously does all the time. Being a one-parent carer is almost as difficult as the Etape…… no…make that much more difficult than the Etape. The Etape only lasts for one day.

I made the local paper this week in an attempt to generate some more sponsorship. The IOW County Press is read by virtually everyone on the Island. I immediately got an email from a guy down the road who is doing the British Etape on 1st July. I’ll give him a ring tonight, but I guess we’ve left it almost too late to hook up together before his ride as he’ll be tapering now.

So, I’ve done one recovery ride this week and got to grips with my new HRM. My bike has a new chain and has had a general once over by Adrian, well known local bike-shop owner and king of the sarcastic put-down. He hates my bike.

With less than 4 weeks to kick-off I’m unsure of how to train. I’m thinking out loud here. Do I pack in another couple of long rides? My max so far is 104 miles or 6.5 hours. My weekends are fully booked with ’stuff’, gigs, weddings, on-call. I think I’m going to really push the 20 mile speed run, some intervals on the local steep hills, and a bit of weigh training. Diet wise… it’s quality all the way. If I can lose a few pounds that would be nice. The trouble is I am permanently starving hungry.

Hopefully I'll see some of you in The Anchor on Saturday night for a Riptide gig.

Reflection time

I gained a lot from my few days in France, and in the last few days have taken the opportunity to evaluate exactly what I have learned.

First .. there is no place for equipment failure. In the last week I've had a few annoying problems including a broken chain, broken sensor mounting for my computer, a new HRM which I had very little idea how to operate so it beeped every two minutes for over 6 hours, a flapping chin strap on my helmet and underinflated tyres. No excuses.

Next, forewarned is forearmed.... or to put it another way...... it's easier to find a needle in a haystack if you know you're looking for a needle. I prefer to know the size of the challenge ahead of me and grinding around endless hairpin bends without knowing how far to go didn't suit my psyche. I know some may argue the converse, but so be it. Plus, natural competitiveness drives me on when I can see someone ahead.

Third, it's more difficult on your own. I have been told that the atmosphere and roadside support and encouragement on the day is tremendous, and I have no doubt that this will help us all. Jacko and Atkinson are going to talk me round, aren't you?

Finally, the heat coupled with the risk of dehydration are major problems which could scupper everything despite all the training and effort over the last 3 months. It could be 40 degrees on the day. We've all seen the data regarding drop off in performance when you let yourself become dry. I really struggled to keep cool and couldn't shake off feelings of extreme thirstyness. Jacko spoke to me on this subject last week and I think he's made the correct call. The answer may be to use electrolyte drinks to keep hydrated, and rely on energy gels and powerbars/fruit/ham butties etc for calories. There are 4 weeks to test my theory, so I'm going to do some experiments on the road. Also, none of us want to carry two kilos of water up these big climbs and your stomach shuts down when your gasping for breath. So, some careful planning is needed to anticipate where the feeding stations are, and how they relate to the cols.

The fourth col is Port de Bales. Quotation from Cofidis pro Stephane Auge who lives in Pau, 'The Bales is very, very hard, long and steep. There will be suffering here.' Nice. 'Tour stages don't come much harder than this.'

Mark L has kindly pointed out to me that La Luzette was nowhere near 16 %. I was reporting back from local rider Phillipe. It just shows what a novice I am, and underlines how valuable my recce trip has been. I have no doubt that I was in a dark place going up that hill. Google maps is brilliant and I've been trying to find the routes which I followed last week.

Oh.. one more thing... The flight, early starts, disturbance to the diet and sleep pattern are also going to contribute towards our problems.

Apart from all that lot, it should be a doddle.

Back to the top

Let me finish the tale of my visit to The South of France.

I've done a shed load of training on the Island in the last 12 weeks and I've improved my level of fitness to the extent that I have completed a 100 mile race in less than 6 hours. Not too bad.
The big problem is that when I do the Etape in 4 weeks time, the challenge that lies ahead is not only the distance of 125 miles, but it's the 5 severe Pyrenees mountain climbs in temperatures which are likely to be in the high 30's. So I needed to test myself on some proper high altitude French roads.

We were in the Cevennes region. My mate Chris had taken some advice from members of his local Velo Club and decided to lead me up Col de la Luzette. We had descended from Mount Aigoual for a brake melting 26 miles before heading out the back of a small village called (I believe) Pont L'Hereux to begin our climb back home.
The road ramped up quickly and pretty soon the only sound was the chirruping crickets and the heavy panting of two sweaty blokes trying to keep those pedals spinning. It was tough in the midday sun, and after 40 minutes with no respite Chris reached his breaking point. In his defence, I must point out:

• Chris is a 90-odd kilo muscle machine... a sprinter rather than a climber
• He rides a bike that weighs more than himself
• He's not a cycling nutter... doesn't use proper cleats or shoes, doesn't pump his tyres up, doesn't weigh his inner tubes etc
• He's been out of action with a knee injury for 3 months or so until a couple of weeks ago
• Since learning that I was coming to stay, he's ridden himself to pieces without any respite, including an ascent of Mont Ventoux 3 days before my arrival
• He's a diabetic. Now I'm stating that not to suggest that he would use it as an excuse in any way, but it is a complicating factor given the energy expenditure coupled with impending dehydration.

Chris is no fool, and no amount of cajoling and motivational crap was going to help him keep going up this particular route. We had reached a tiny hamlet and could hear a car coming. After a brief discussion, we split. We both had feelings of anxiety that we might be making a silly mistake, and the risk of diabetic hypo was certainly on the agenda. The fact that I didn't know where I was, where I had been, or even really know where I was going slightly concerned me too. I only speak un peu de francais.
I continued up the hill ultimately aiming to reach a town called L'Esperou, while Chris hitched a lift from the passing car (the first we had seen for an hour) back down the road. We both had our phones and a couple of bottles of water.
I immediately felt pretty isolated on my own, and tried to clear any thoughts of quitting or negativity as the road continued to wind up towards the tree-covered peak above. My technique is pretty basic...pedal and don't stop.
There's not a lot else to say except the road climbed at between 8 to 14 % for an hour or two until a series of ridiculous hairpin corners signalled a mile of 16%. I could see what I thought was the summit over to my right, but my progress had slowed to as little as 4mph.
The problem (apart from the severe incline) was dehydration and the heat. The remains of my High5 drink couldn't slake my thirst and the temp was peaking in the mid-afternoon sun with no shade. At this slow pace, the sweat doesn't evaporate, and I could feel my heart pounding through my sternum and the back of my eyeballs were throbbing in unison. My mouth and throat had dried up miles back, and every breath seared all the way down my trachea.
The mental fight and desire to give up were compounded by not knowing how far I had to go. I was praying to see the end around each bend, only to be confronted by yet another stretch of road extending to the next corner.

It's amazing what goes through your head when you're suffering on a bike, but I had a series of thoughts along the following themes.
1. Equipment paranoia. My gears aren't low enough, my saddle hurts, my shoes are too big, the cleats are in the wrong place, my wheels are creaking, my tyres are too soft, the stem is too high, there's a stone in my shoe, my brakes must be binding and so on....
2. Body paranoia. I'm going to collapse with an heart attack/stroke/dehydration, no one will find me for days, my legs are too thin, I'm a fat get, there's sweat in my eyes, I'm burning, my throat is sore, my bum is killing me, I can't feel my extremities, my teeth are rattling, double vision etc

Eventually, I realised I was nearing the summit as the scenery had changed a little with the appearance of pine trees and the gradient had relaxed. Don't ask how far or how long it had taken because I have no accurate idea. I had missed all the opportunities for some spectacular photos. I had drained my water an hour back and just when I was starting to worry about serious dehydration, a car approached. I flagged it down and a little grey-haired old lady gave me some water and wished me well. Bliss. I had a series of false peaks to tackle and another 3 or 4 miles before I started to descend through a wooded section, avant finally rolling into my intended target namely L'Esperou.

Chris, God bless him, was grinding his way up to the same spot by another route which, although not as steep, was a lot longer. Ironically, the sky rapidly clouded over and the temperature dropped dramatically just as we were completing our rides.

We slept well that night!

Me and Barry Sheene... The Circuit of the Cotswolds

I was tired last night, but now I'm absolutely pooped. What do you think of this recumbent bicycle (above) ?

Barry Sheene crashed at Daytona in 1975 when his chain snapped and locked up his rear wheel at 170mph.
Today I was about a quarter into the 102 mile Circuit of the Cotswolds (CC) when I stood up on the pedals to give it a bit of welly up a short incline and my chain broke. I nearly lost my manhood on the crossbar. (Amazingly .. I have been told by two reputable sources that the lifecycle of a chain is 3 months or 1400 miles, so my bike is booked in at the local bike shop this coming Tuesday for a service and a new chain before the Etape).

Anyway, I was gutted. I trudged back to the first drinks station which I had passed about a mile back. Psychologically, I was resigned to finish there and then, but there was a bloke having a pee pause who saw the damage and asked if I wanted to borrow his chain-link tool and see if I could mend it. I did. It was a bit graunchy, but it did the job.

About 25 miles further on, I was in a group of about 12 riders descending really fast down a sweeping country road. We were approaching some farm buildings when a dog ran across the road. This poor chap in front hit his brakes and scrubbed off a bit of speed before he went down really hard. It looked terrible. We stopped and called the ambulance. Not nice.

Furthermore, my computer sensor wasn't working so I had no speedo, and no measurement of my actual time spent pedalling, as opposed to total time.

On I went.. and finished in 6 hours 30 minutes. Not bad given my problems. I felt strong at the end, which is just as well because on The Etape, I will still have two very bad mountains to climb after 100 miles.

I'm glad to say I met the chap who fell off at the end and he was OK.

Thanks to Christian who helped me keep my speed up today.

I'm off to bed. I promise to tell the rest of the story of my French climb later this week.

I think I saw Elvis

I left my last blog at the start of our climb out of Pont d'Herault.
I'm home now on The Island, but I'm too tired to write properly.
I've had a great trip to the South of France, and owe a massive thank you to Chris and Sophie who put me up.
Tomorrow I've got another early start to drive to Witney near Oxford for the Circuit of the Cotswolds. This is a 100 mile sportive with plenty of steep hills to test myself on. I'm not sure that it's a good idea because I'm very tired, have a cold sore and a sore throat. I had 90 minutes sleep last night!
No excuses! I'll be resting next week, I hope.

What goes down must come up.

Bonjour mes amis.

I'm in a slightly damp but sunny Montpellier today, Friday, after 3 days of mountain life. Huge thanks to my friends Chris and Sophie who have been fantastic hosts.

What a trip! The plan was to get some experience of the heat, the Cols, the climbs and the sheer suffering which I am likely to experience during the Etape on July 16th. I have had the lot.

I arrived on Tuesday, and by way of a warm-up Chris took me for a 40 mile ride out of Montpellier to a nearby landmark called Pic St. Loup. Chris is the opposite build to me. He is around 90kg and built like Tarzan(by comparison I'm 75kg and built like Jane). A sprinter rather than a climber, you could say by way of understatement. He's also recovering from a damaged medial collateral knee ligament, so has not done a huge amount of cycling in the last few weeks. Having said that, he only cycled up Mont Ventoux last Saturday with his local velo club so he can't be that unfit, can he?
The early part of the ride was reasonably flat, but like all power merchants, Chris set a fast pace and dragged me along in his wake.We soon left the crazy French cars behind and started ascending for about 7 miles before cresting the climb and stopping for some photos.The heat was oppressive, about the mid-thirties, and it's amazing how much fluid one needs to drink. More of that later.We met quite a few other cyclists on our ride, and on the way back came across the local gendarmes and firemen at the site of an accident. One of the superfit old boys from Chris' club had hit a car and been carted off to hospital apparently. He was concussed, but is OK.

So, back to Montpellier, at a steady 25mph. A perfect 'warm-up' ride.
Like all beautiful multi-lingual French babes, Sophie came fully equipped with her own chalet up in the mountains, so after dinner and a bottle of champagne Chris and I loaded up the car with our cycling stuff and headed off to the Cevennes region, about 90 minutes away. This is an area of National Park, centered around Mount Aigoual. It's not monstrously high, we're not talking glaciers here, but don't scoff. It's plenty high enough. yes indeedy.

After the exertions of the day, the flight, the early start etc. this wasn't the most pleasant or relaxing drives to undertake late at night. The road began to climb and climb forever. I was fighting the fatigue and struggling to keep us on the road as we negotiated endless ridiculously steep switchback bends in the pitch black. I was very relieved when we made it to Camprieu around midnight to a beautiful chalet nestling amongst the trees. Suffice to say, I slept like a log, looking forward to an epic days riding.

Wednesday dawned hot and sunny, and unfortunately we were too tired for an early start. This wasn't ideal because we would inevitably be out in the worst heat of the day. We strolled into the village for coffee and croissants, and Chris was able to consult the local shop-owner/cyclist regarding suitable routes for our intended day of riding. I was very mindful of the drive-up the mountain the night before which had been simply endless climbing. I tried not to think about it, because the views of the surrounding mountain peaks and plunging valleys were beginning to psyche me out. Were we really going to ride up those?

The day began with about 5 miles of reasonably comfortable climbing, bearing in mind that the longest climb that I've ever done before this week is about 1 mile. Then we descended for an incredible 26 miles! Now, obviously there is a technique involved in negotiating long descents with their inevitable corners and bends, and now was the time to perfect it.
Lessons to remember. Break early, choose your line, use your weight to help countersteer and try to look through the turn. Avoid loose gravel, lizards, fallen rocks and les crazy francais voitures. We tried not to kill ourselves, tried not to melt the brake blocks, and tried not to exceed 45mph. As exhilarating as this high-speed run was, I was only too aware that there was only one way back, and what goes down must go back up. You know that feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach? Furthermore, every time it flattened off a little, Chris pedalled like a demon to keep our speed up, so it wasn't even as if we were conserving energy. He's a monster.

So, after 90 minutes or so we reached a village called Pont de Herault (I think) and we stopped for a quick break. Chris is diabetic, so we had to keep an eye on his blood sugar. He manages himself incredibly well, but you can imagine that extreme cycling, heat and dehydration can play havoc with your glucose metabolism. Plus ingesting energy drinks and powerbars with their complex carbohydrates. We visited the boulangerie for a very tasty apple turnover, refilled our water bottles by the church, before readying ourselves for the climb.

I have to admit, I felt like the condemned man enjoying his final meal, faced with the knowledge that I had just been descending on my bike for almost an hour. Chris also admitted that he was a little worried. He was unsure of our intended route, and had never been up this way before.

La Luzette lay between us and home. Fear of the unknown? You bet. And the heat. Did I mention the heat? So far you're thinking a 20-odd mile descent must have been a lot of fun? We haven't got to the suffering bit yet. There will be a lot of that in the next installment.

More tomorrow.

Who remembers the 70's? Who can remember the weekend?

I'll probably be cycling up a French mountain by the time you read this. No..it's not the Etape yet. I'm zipping off to Montpellier where I'm staying with my mate Chris. He'll be tying a rope from the back of his saddle to my front fork and dragging me up some proper hills in the Cevennes National Park.

The IOW Rock festival is over for another year, and I suspect many people are still feeling a bit under the weather. The old saying is that if you can remember the sixties then you probably weren't there. I reckon Keef can't remember the 60's, the 70's or the 80's. I was a big Stones fan in the 70's. Black and Blue was my favourite album, released around '76, just before I got into punk rock.

I was on the Redjet today skimming through the paper when an article caught my eye about one of the most naff icons of the 70's. No, not Oxford bags, tank tops or Subbutteo, but The Goblin Teasmaid. For those of you who don't know, this is a glorified kettle attached to an alarm clock. You fill it with water, milk and tea before you retire of a night, set the alarm, and then you are woken in the morning by a freshly brewed pot of tea. Well, that's the theory. Now for a confession. I know a doctor who used to have one when he was a student. Let's call him Nigel cos that's his name. I borrowed his Teasmaid one day just to see how good (or bad ) it was.... and I can assure you it was rubbish. I was woken not by a nice cuppa, but by a gurgling noise as the water was boiling. When it all came to fruition , the tea was the wrong side of lukewarm and tasted ... worse than the tea on the Wightlink ferries. That bad.

Anyway, prepare yourself, because these devices are making a comeback and will be in a shop near you very soon. I've just had an evil thought. My sister is getting married in two weeks, and I need to buy her a wedding present. Oh yes, that will be funny.

I'm up early in the morning to catch my plane from Bournemouth Airport. I think it's fantastic the way small regional airports have been developed. Maybe someone will expand Sandown or Bembridge? Maybe not.

Bike in a box time.

I've really enjoyed my cycling this past week. Why? I suppose the fabulous weather for one. Then there are the new wheels and tyres which are still giving me a buzz. I've also ridden down some Island roads that I haven't been down before, and even took a trip on the floating bridge. Most of all, I've deliberately backed off and not over-exerted myself. I've therefore done 140 fairly gentle miles this week, and so hopefully I'll be strong for my trip to the south of France. I can't remember where I read it..... but some famous cyclist was interviewed after winning a big Tour and claimed that, 'I won it in bed', implying that it was the rest and sleep that maximised his fitness and form. (Well I think that's what he alluded to). Nothing wrong with catching a few zzzzzzzzz's when you can.

On Tuesday, I'm flying from Bournemouth to Marseilles, then driving to Montpellier where I'll hook up with Chris. He's emailed me today after cycling up Mont Ventoux via Bedouin ie the hard route. I don't think we're going to do that next week but he knows plenty of other very long and steep Cols to test my climbing.

I've packed my bike in its airport bag. I reinforced it by cadging a cardboard box from a bike shop and slotting that inside the canvas. The wheels are in there too, but the pedals and seat/seatpost are going in my carry-on in order to save weight. Ryanair only let you check in 15kg, after which they charge excess. Sneaky.

So, there's 4 weeks to go. I'm going to do the Circuit of the Cotswolds on Sunday, so next week is a very important 7 days of training. Proper mountains, heat, altitude and a 100 mile race. Perfect.

I'm not going to take my laptop away with me, but I'll see if I can post via Chris' computer.

I need to raise a bit more money for The Prostate Cancer Charity. Frank Zappa died from this disease.. what an amazing musician.

New boots and panties

Ian Dury died from prostate cancer and I want to remind blogreaders that you may sponsor me if you so desire. All the money goes to The Prostate Cancer Charity. Now he would have been a great live act for the IOW Festival.
The poppies are out in the fields (Who recorded that?). Can you see that huge mountain in the background? That's the climb up Blackgang Chine to viewpoint lookout.
And talking of new boots... can you spot the red tyres on my bike? I had to do it. The Contis which came with my Ksyriums seemed to be fine, but how would I know if they are better than Michelins unless I bought some and gave them a whirl.The bike looks a tad tarty now, a bit Cheeky Girlish, instead of a bit Elle.
So, that's exactly what I've done. Mich Pro 2's. Just been for a ride on the new tyres and they definitely feel faster. Ok, it could all be in my mind, but I don't care. They're on for good. Local bike shop guru Adrian reckons Veloflex Paves are even better, and he could be right. But, I can't keep swapping about. Anyone would think I'm a rich doctor.

Any readers out there got any sound advice about packing your bike ready for flying? Ten top tips sort of thing. I've borrowed a soft padded bike bag from Etape veteran cardiologist Dallas Price (great name).. veteran in terms of experience, not age. I think Ryanair are going to sting me for excess baggage charges. After all, they've got to generate some profit somehow after selling me a return ticket for 2 new pence. I have 15 kg to play with! Oh well. I'll be putting tons of stuff in my carry-on bag. Once I bought a bass amplifier head in Chicago and shoe-horned it into a bag and took that on the flight back home in the cabin. I practically had to do a clean and jerk to lift it into the overhead locker, and I was petrified that it might come bursting out and kill someone if we hit turbulence. It took forever to get through security as well.

It was a real Mary Celeste job at work today. Only the sick and needy. I went down town at lunchtime and it was heaving with revellers.

This evening I did 20 miles and used the HRM to keep my rate low so that I didn't over reach myself. The result. A really enjoyable ride, and remarkably fast time/average speed. I'm so much fitter and faster compared to when I started.

Tomorrow I'll be up at 5-30am to take Sarah skating, and I'll go for a ride while she's on the ice. Again, I'm going to take it slow, and on an empty stomach.

Festival fever grips small Island somewhere off the south coast of England

The IOW Festival is almost here and the Island is gripped by a strange fever. Normally staid and very square middle-aged people seem to metamorphose temporarily into rock-chicks and Diamond-Dave Dads. Like delicate moths or nymphs, this strange sub-species can be seen dancing with a total lack of self-consciousness for 3 glorious evenings before reverting back to type as quickly as you can say 'I hope Mick and Keef have remembered that they're supposed to be headlining on Sunday night'. No doubt the promoter has organised the 37 telephone lines backstage for da boys, the snooker room and the exclusive warm-up area where no ordinary mortals may tread. It's only rock 'n' roll. You do wonder where the estimated 30,000 Island Festivalgoers are on the other 51 weekends of the year when they never turn out to watch any number of talented local bands play at local pubs and clubs. Whinge.

Today's Festival or should I say Rock Extravagansa bare no resemblance to those of the late 60's/early 70's. The onus is on the promoter to pack 'em in, keep them safe, sell as much beer and food as possible, and put on a few acts to keep everyone happy. It's a business like any other. I want to know if the footy pitches are going to be alright for the start of the season in August? I expect not. The Cosmic Lawnmower better pull his finger out.

Already the camp sites are chocka, and droves of scruffy kids (they can't possibly be 18, can they?) are ferrying cases of beer from Morrisons and Sainsburys to the campsite like a chain of human ants. Sickness and annual leave rates become stratospheric on Friday and Monday, and the disruption to the roads on the vital Ryde-Wootton-Newpost axis makes going about ones normal business a waste of time. I can't get to the Private Hossy on Friday which means I miss my favourite and important carbo-loading 'meal of the week'.
The wide-boys, touts and pushers can already be spotted near Medina with their London and sarf-coast accents, and that tough but shifty-eyed look and demeanour. Not that the locals aren't immune to making a bob or two. Some folk living along Fairlee Road have stockpiled beer, spirits and water in their garage and are already selling it off from their front drives at a healthy profit. Compensation for 3 days of disruption some say.

Google on wight festival to see the line-up.
I see Echo and the Bunnymen are on Friday, a band I saw about 10 times in Eric's Club, Liverpool when I used to live there getting on for 30 years ago. Amazing. The last two years, by the time I'd finished work, got across the Island, parked, walked and queued to get in , I had missed the very bands that I was really keen to see. I missed Supergrass two years ago. Boys, was I pissed.
Saturday Mick Jones' new band Carbon/Silicon are playing. Hmmmm. Could be interesting.

Anyway, I'll be either cycling or fishing this weekend.
The legs have been a little tired after an 80-miler earlier this week so come the weekend I'm planning a couple of speed sessions and a fat-burner. Nothing too drastic. Obviously, I'm looking ahead to next week's sojourn in the South of France, as I don't want to arrive at the foot of Mont Ventoux with no whooomph in the old muscles.
A week on Sunday I have entered the Tour of the Cotswolds. A 104 miles, I think, with a bit of climbing. I'm not sure as I write whether I'll actually do it........ it depends on how I feel when I get back from France on Saturday. I'm not going to risk getting overtired at this stage of the campaign, so I'll be playing it by ear.

Thanks to JackH and Mark L for their nice and supportive responses. I wasn't fishing for compliments, and now I feel a bit like those annoying swotty girls who used to claim that 'I've done no work at all, absolutely none, zilch' before walking off with top marks in the final exams. Yeah, right.

I see my brother is getting himself fit with the purchase of a tasty Raleigh something for £20. I've told you about my ex-Marine anaesthetist colleague who did last years Etape up Alpe d'Huez on a £280 Raleigh bike? He didn't even have proper pedals, and was doing it in old denim cut-offs until two weeks before the event when his family took pity on him and bought him a pair of proper cycling shorts. Makes you think, doesn't it.

By the way, nice photo above by Chicky Babe taken at The Artigiano gig last summer. Lots of people have said nice things about my piccies. What camera do I have, they ask?
Nearly all the photos on my blog have been taken with my Sony Ericsson phone-camera K800i.

Consolidation

I'm very aware that L'Etape is just 6 weeks away. It's very difficult not to have a feeling of impending doom, rather like I used to feel all those years ago when important exams were approaching. There is a sense of low-grade anxiety, that it's all getting too late to effect any useful increase in ones fitness. It's getting too late to put in much long-distance groundwork, too late too build up any muscle, too late to grow some more myocardium or new juicy capilliaries. Plus, after what I felt was a really good performance in the HH100, I'm seriously worried that I've peaked too early. Can I reproduce that speed and endurance? It's hard not to succumb to the 'pressure' and just metaphorically ensconce oneself in the fug of a smokey bar every afternoon and drink a few pints of beer, roll home drunk, and sleep it off. Having said that, I had a few good mates who used this revision technique successfully for many years. Eh, Bains ? Flynn? Beech? Gallagher?

Of course , I haven't got where I am today by letting all the threads slip from my grasp in the final straight... Oh, there'll be no Devon Lochs here.

I actually have a sense of bringing it all together in these last few weeks. Consolidation sums up the process perfectly. (It also means something other than gas in your alveoli....usually pus/pneumonia, but don't worry about that).

So, on the equipment front, two or three important changes.

Obviously, I've mentioned the new (secondhand) wheels. Mavic Ksyrium ES's. I love them. Black and silver rims, black spokes except for one red one. The rear hub is reddy/orange. The front one has a carbon sleeve.

It went like this. At the HH100, the guy next to me turned up with a virtually brand new Roubaix S-Works just like mine apart from the wheels. I have to admit to a tinge of envy when I saw his Ksyriums because they looked absolutely trick (mine was equipped with Rovals) ... the colour scheme matched the frame so well. Who cares what they go like.....they looked fantastic. I asked him if they were any good and his reply was, 'I don't know, I haven't had the bike long enough to form an opinion.' At least he was honest.

On the previous Thursday, I had gone for a nice ride with a couple of guys who I have met through work, one of whom is an ex-pro cyclist. He was on an S-Works Tarmac. Obviously, he knows just a little more about bikes than I. I asked him if he thought I could improve my bike without spending a gazillion pounds, and he recommended changing the wheels. 'Wheels and tyres', actually. He rides for a team called F P Mailing and the team boss was selling a pair of nearly new Ksyriums ES's. Perhaps he could get them for me? Obviously, when I saw matey's wheels in the carpark, I wanted them. Nay, I had to have them. He also suggested using Michelin Pro2 tyres.

Anyway, a bit of emailing ensued, and then last week postie delivered my Mavics. They came equipped with a 12-23 Dura-Ace block and Continental GP4000 tyres. The latter seem to go really well, so I'll stick with 'em unless Jacko or Stoney tell me otherwise.

Do they make a difference I hear you ask. Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back? Definitely. They spin up better, they are stiffer, they track better through the corners. They just feel lighter, and more lively. Perhaps it's all in the mind? I don't think so. Obviously I will test them in a time-trial over my benchmark 20 mile route. And best of all, they are lookers.

I've made one other important change... I've reversed the stem so that it points up instead of down. It is a Bontrager XXX Lite 120mm with a 12degree angle. What an improvement! The effect is startling.... the bars are about two inches higher. I don't think it looks particularly good, but I've got a 47-year old back. Remember, L'Etape is not a sprint. I've been plagued with niggly low back pain for the last 3 months, especially after a couple of hours on the bike. The problem seems to be the SI (sacro-iliac) joints rather than the discs of the lower lumbar spine. Today I've done an 80-miler with virtually no pain. Cracked that one. By the way, one of you blog readers (I think nmcgann) suggested I try this mod many weeks ago, and so thanks to you...you know who you are.

There are quite a few other factors in my consolidation process, but I'll leave those until later. Suffice to say the most important thing.. my lack of experience of climbing proper mountains.. has also been addressed. I'm off to Montpellier next Tuesday for a 4 day jaunt with an old mate.

Does anyone else get the farty bottoms when they drink these recovery drinks?

It's a serious problem because I feel bloated and it interrupts my sleep. I guess the bowel is temporarily paralysed during the exercise , and then flooding it with a pint of complex carbs and protein is all a bit too much?

I wanted them.

No riding at all this weekend.

For starters I've been on-call, and secondly, I've felt tired and sore-throaty. I decided to rest again today and listen to the messages my body is sending to me. I hope I'm not coming down with the virus that has been around the X-Ray dept. last week. A couple of patients that I've been involved with this weekend have been very seriously ill, so it puts it all in perspective. I hate being woken in the night, who doesn't, but it's not so bad when some poor chap is in real need of my expertise. Hope that doesn't sound too dramatic. Had a nice pub lunch with some old friends.

With 6 weeks to go, I'm planning my training carefully in advance so that I peak perfectly on the 16th ... well , that's the idea. I always wonder how neurotic the pro athletes must become when the Olympics or Worlds are approaching?

This week I'm aiming to do two longish rides at fast pace, with some fat-burning and intervals in between. I'm going to flog up and down the local steep hill which is about 15 % and really get used to suffering. I'm not going to go mad though, and I'm going to get some early nights.

Next weekend, the Island goes totally beserk because it is The IOW Rock Festival. The Stones are headlining on the Sunday, and there are loads of other decent bands (so I am told). Unfortunately, the experience of last year has put me off totally. Too many drunk and aggressive people, many unpleasantly stoned, too difficult to see or hear the bands properly, too many disappointing 'artists'. Lou Reed was absolutely diabolical.
I sound very bitter and twisted, but when you've seen bands like The Clash, The Jam, The Ramones, Dexys, The Pistols, The Specials, The Undertones etc. in tiny clubs where you could practically spit on them, it forever seems a little bit flat to stand in a field half a mile away from the stage. The bar is 20 minutes away for a pint of lager, and that's about a fiver... Oh why don't I stop whining and just admit I wish I had a ticket?

So, I'll be on the bike next weekend, and then on the Tuesday the 12th I'm whizzing to Montpellier to be dragged up some major mountains by my old buddy, Chris 'one knee' Middleton.

Intelligence

I've learned an awful lot about cycling in the last 3 months. Don't get me wrong...I'm still only on the first rung of the ladder, but perhaps I should be keeping a little black book in which I can record 'learning points'.

For instance, when you ride a bike on a summer's evening at speed down country lanes, unless you wear sunglasses you'll be catching flies in your eyes within a few minutes. I've known this for 30 years or more and yet I am stupid and still go out without my glasses and soon have big black flies stuck on my eyeballs. It's horrible. It hurts, you have to squint at the road ahead, and your nose starts to stream from the irritation. It won't be long before you catch another little blighter in your good eye, and then you're really in trouble.
When I did the HH100 I was riding in a group for the first time, close to the rear wheels of the other riders. Thankfully, I had my Oakleys on. It was amazing how often my lens were hit by bits of grit and other debris.

When you ride a mountain bike off-road, the knobbly tyres pick up loads of crud which sticks on them until you get to the next rapid descent. Then the centrifugal force flings the crap all over the place.... including your Mark 1 eyeballs.

So... I should always wear my sunnies. Obsessive perfectionists probably have special glasses with interchangeable lenses for different light conditions.

Another scary thing are the number of bees which land on you as you cycle along. Usually it's in the groin area, which is not conducive to a relaxed state of mind. What should you do about them? Flick them away, or wait patiently until they fly off? I'm a flicker, so I guess it won't be long before I get stung. When I was a nipper, my first ever sting was from a wasp or bee which flew up the leg of my shorts.
A couple of years ago I was painting the eaves, 20 feet up a ladder, when a wasp flew out from under the roof tiles, crashed straight into me and stung me on the eyelid. Ouch.
Nasty buzzing bugs also get lodged in the gaps of your helmet and remain trapped by the air pressure. It gives me the willies because you can never be sure what's stuck up there and I'm definitely not going to stop and take a peek.

Back to learning stuff...... or perhaps I may tell you about my 12 year-old and the lesson I'm trying to teach her. She wants another mobile.. about £100. She lost the first, or it was stolen. I've pointed out to her that if she hadn't frittered away her money on iTunes rubbish by McFly, plastic jewellery, Playstation games etc, then she would already be half the way to saving up the 100, and then I might be prepared to lend her the rest. So, she's outside washing my car.That's £2 for starters. Money doesn't grow on trees. How many times did my dad say that to me?

I was woken at 3am last night by the hospital, so I'm tired today. A brain scan. I'm not planning to train until tomorrow when I'll be doing 3 hours or so up and down as many hills as I can find. I've reversed the stem so that my handlebars are 3 or 4 inches higher than they were before. I don't think it looks good, but I'm going to give it a try and see how it feels. Remember, L'Etape is mainly about climbing, not speed and slip-streaming, so the higher position shouldn't slow me down. It might take pressure off my back, shoulders and bum. We'll have to wait and see.

That's another thing for the little black book. There are endless variations and adjustments in the fit and geometry of the bike, and experimentation is the only way to find out what's best for you.

Fat burning can be fun

For two consecutive mornings, I've dragged myself out of my lovely warm bed well before the Terry Wogan Hour.
Creep down the stairs, on with the gear, a half pint of water (yeeeeuch) and then out of the door for an hours ride on an empty stomach. At the beginning, it's cold, I'm sleepy and hungry, and I'm wondering why I have inflicted this torture upon myself. I dream of bacon and egg. But after a couple of miles I start to warm up, the power gradually flows back into the legs, and the bike starts to fizz along the black top. It can be almost mesmeric to spin those pedals at a constant and comfortable cadence, with the procession of the chain and gears, and the wheels spinning underneath. The bike seems to float along the road and the music on the iPod sounds fantastic. I enjoy the ride, and it feels good to know I'm stealing precious time that would otherwise have been wasted in bed.

Did I mention the wheels?


The roads are virtually deserted at 6am, but when you do meet a car down a small country lane, you can see the startled look on the driver's face as he is shocked back into the land of the living by the sight of me on my bike. 'What is that barking nutter doing out on his bike at this time in the morning?' Lipolysis. Fat burning of course.

I'm home within the hour, for a pot of tea and porridge with syrup. The dog and cats need feeding, Sarah wants her toast, and then it's a quick shower and shave before I'm off to work.

This weekend I'm on-call so I will have little opportunity for riding. I need a couple of rest days, so I'm not too worried.

Maybe I'll play with my wheels.