"Tomorrow at 9.30?" - Sounded like a good idea on the Saturday afternoon before, shortly after representing Cannock Rugby seconds against Stone.
8.45 next morning: Can't move, the bed is stuck to my back, my legs wont move and my head feels like it doesn't belong to me My mobile has gone flat, and I've left my charger in the pub, so I cant get in touch with my would be road warrior to try and get out of it.
If I'm being honest, it wasn't just the rugby that took its toll on my body. I had the misfortune to bump into Mr Andrew Martin, lone wolf drinker that evening and looking for someone to accompany him. "We'll be back by 10" he promised. Once again I fell into his trap - I was back by 12 with a slight wobble on and a Chinese in hand to try and appease my long suffering wife.
So 8.45 the next morning was difficult, by 8.50 my vision returned, 8.55 I was up and fishing around in the wardrobe for my kit. by 9.05 I had logged into facebook to let fellow CCCP riders know the score and where we are meeting and I'm out of the door by 9.15. Quick squirt of lube for my poor bike which needed a service some 2 months ago and we're off! No breakfast, no supplies on board, perfect preparation
Free wheel down the hill and pull up on the car park, and there''s one taker from the CCCP mob, Chesh. The rest are in bed, to be honest I dont blame em, its freezing.
And so begins a 40 mile trawl of me desperately hanging on to Chesh's back wheel, while pretending not to be in the red zone. Stopped for a comfort break - in the middle of no where, but not much cover and with perfect 'mid flow' timing a small group of 4 female cyclists came around the corner and greeted me automatically as I stood at the side of the road next to the hedge, that's when they realised what I was doing there.... Ah bit embarrassing that one, well it was cold.
Continuing the ride, I waved with false enthusiasm at passing riders, took my turn on the front over a particular Strava time trial segment, refused the offer of a sprint between signposts and coped with my numb fingers locked to the handle bars - its all part of the fun! To be honest it is, I may have been hungover, my legs may have been in bits from Rugby, but there's a bit of the masochist in every cyclist and that morning I was taking suffering to new limits.
The cafe stop was nothing short of a miracle, a popular cyclists haunt, the Mess in Brewood one turbo chocolate later, I was a new man, who needs the drugs when you have Turbo Chocolate - coffee and chocolate with heaps of sugar! That got me back home without to much pain, warm shower, lunch and a food coma on the sofa - a wonderful Sunday, life don't get much better.
No comments:
Post a Comment