Saturday, 27th September
Chesham – Chenies – Amersham Old Town – Dunsmore – Chesham. 25.42 miles
With the abject failure of yesterday, and a Friday night shift leaving more than just lingering feelings of apathy, I certainly didn’t expect to ride well.
It was a late start to the day, and I left the house at about half past four. Once again, I didn’t fancy the climbs out of Chesham, being slightly put off by the pathetic attempts of yesterday, together with not feeling great, and took the valley road, yet again. After about a mile, I could’ve happily climbed off, never to ride a bike again. Had I been truly as soft as yesterday I might have done, but I’ve been here before, and know there’ll be good days and bad. Besides, I was wearing my new top, and so I pressed on, as even though I felt bad, I knew that I looked good. As though to prove my point, on the approach to the climb into Chenies, I passed a group of rambler-hiker types, armed with walking boots, beards (not the lady, as she had a bit of loo-roll stuck to her face, and had clearly cut herself shaving), big socks and a camera. I hope they read Fat Man, and send me a copy of the photographs.
The climb to Chenies was considerably easier than I expected, and certainly easier than last time I’d done it, and I found myself flying along in the Amersham direction, and the feelings of giving up forever had passed. However, I was aware of the time, the absence of lighting on my bike and, with the setting sun being at eye-level, the impending nightfall. I was also aware of the fact that I’d only just started to enjoy myself, and I was damned if I was going to let some poxy normal main-sequence G2 star taking his ball home ruin my bike ride.
The poxy normal main-sequence G2 star clearly didn’t give much of toss about my bike ride, and wanted to go in for it’s tea. The months of staying out late had taken it’s toll, and it fancied an early night. As I passed through Great Missenden, I checked the time. It was about quarter-past six, and I guessed that, if I rode hard, I’d have time to take the route through Dunsmore and the climb up to Chartridge before heading home, and still beat the sunset. It would be a race against time. Not the awful b-side to U2’s Where the Streets Have No Name 7″ and 12″ singles, thank goodness, which is dreary nonsense and wouldn’t inspire anyone to the top of the 12% gradient into Chartridge.
By this time, the sun was nicely behind the taller trees and, without wanting to cue another half-baked song reference, in the shadows the temperature was as could be expected for the time of year. I was cold, it was getting dark, and I rode like a cycling great, just to get home.
Todays bike: Pinarello Paris with full 9-speed Ultegra and Mavic Open Pros