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Sunday, 21st September. Peace Day.

Chesham – Chenies – Little Chalfont – Rickmansworth – Amersham – Chesham. 22.86 miles

With Friday being spent in a post-night shift fuzz, and an impromtu shopping trip within the dubiously delightful confines of Milton Keynes shopping centre calling a halt to any thoughts of donning the lycra yesterday, I was determined that the two-wheeled steed would be non-too-surreptitiously mounted and given a good seeing to. A lie-in, a hearty English breakfast, and an evening engagement at the Royal Albert Hall meant that, in reality, I was left with a few hours of the afternoon for gasping my lungs out, and I took full advantage.

Once again, the valley road to Chenies took top billing, with the intention of getting the legs going before I had to worry about dragging myself up anything hilly, as the breakfast was weighing heavily on my stomach, despite the pre-requisite two hours between eating it and popping on the pervy pants, and I had no intention of seeing it again, thank you very much. Sadly, the legs didn’t really want to be any more bothered to pedal than my stomach seemed to be with the prospect of digesting. Perhaps they were taking a career break.

I was nicely warmed up though, when the climb out of Chenies appeared in my midst, and the short hill posed little problem. Ever conscious of the time, or lack thereof, I turned in the direction of Amersham, and home. I was, however, to get a little carried away. On the rise past Little Chalfont station, and the superb Sugar Loaf Inn, the scene for many a fattening Sunday roast dinner, I spied a group of cyclists disappearing down a road that I’d never been down. I had to chase them!

As I rounded the corner into the aforementioned street, it was clear that the group had fragmented and, presumably, the riders were making their separate ways to their respective homes, explaining why I had no difficulty in catching and passing them. Then I dawned on me – I had no idea where I was or where the road would take me. I passed through the unfamiliar backstreets of Chorleywood, hoping to see a sign that would give me a clue as to my location, but none were forthcoming. Eventually, I found myself descending towards the M25, and the roads for Uxbridge and Maple Cross. So much for a short ride.

With legs like Mr Stay Puft, the Ghostbusters became my mortal enemies...

With legs like Mr Stay Puft, the Ghostbusters became my mortal enemies...

The road between Heronsgate and Rickmansworth would have been a joy to ride along, were it not for the immeasurable feelings of panic I was beginning to feel about being dreadfully late, and I pushed on at a good 25-30mph until the road rose upwards once again between Rickmansworth and Chorleywood. I rode as hard as I could for as long as I could, and found that the miles flew by quickly. Before long, I was in Amersham, and the descent into Chesham couldn’t come soon enough. I’d saved the day, much like the Ghostbusters, but with only my legs being like marshmallow. I was in time, and out of trouble.

Oh, by the way. It’s Peace Day, so I didn’t have a fight.

C'est une carte.

To my French readers: C'est une carte.

Todays bike: Pinarello Paris with full 9-speed Ultegra and Mavic Open Pros

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