St Albans – Milton Keynes – St Albans. 57.77 miles
Just about everything hurts. It’s a good hurt, because it means that I’ve actually done some work for once. Not actually at work, of course, where I do very little, and even that is too much – I mean on the bike.
The route took us (myself and Chris, a chap from work, who generally does more work than I do for far less money – as is often the way) from St Albans to Milton Keynes which, if you cared to read above, is 57.77 miles. Everything was going along rather pleasantly, until Markyate…when Chris, dickhead that he is, had a puncture. This is not why he’s a dickhead. He’s a dickhead for not having a repair kit/spare tube. Perhaps this is a tad unfair as I also had neither of the aforementioned items. However, his brain is younger than mine and, therefore, should be fresher and able to remember such things. Therefore, I blame him entirely. Consequently, the four miles from Markyate to Dunstable were completed with much swearing from Chris, much chortling from myself, and at the lowest speeds we were to see all afternoon.
Dunstable reached, and the puncture repaired (with supplies of the repairing type acquired, too), we were free to ride like idiots up the old Roman A5. I suspect that to Romans didn’t have horns on their chariots, but if they did I doubt they would use them with the alarming frequency that the wankers out on the road today used them. I am slightly concerned that I may have “flicked the V’s” at a pair of pikeys in a van, and shall forever be looking over my shoulder…
Chips in Woburn Sands seemed like a good idea at the time, but they weighed heavy for the majority of the return journey. Sadly, they didn’t tone down my response to the multitude of horn-blowing – my repertoire of “hand signals” been extended way beyond it’s capacity and, in the end, I had to reuse a fair few.
Fortunately, as we approached Markyate on the return leg, the chips had finally started to either kick in, or just be added to the already glutinous mass that is my waist, and the pedals began to spin freely once again. We maintained a steady average of around 20-24mph for the last nine miles which, considering the variable winds, and the fact that I’m a fat twat, was rather pleasing.
If you’ve got this far without falling asleep, there’s a few good points to note:
- I’m going to shut up in a minute;
- I’m too tired to carry on; and
- With one exception, that being the puncture debacle, the whole ride was done on the top ring.
Todays bike: Pinarello Paris with full 9-speed Ultegra and Mavic Open Pros