Sunday 20 November 2011

Red Rooster

Despite the darkness of the commute home, I got back on my bike during the week. I really need the daily boost to my heart rate and metabolism to keep the weight moving in the right direction. IE ... down.

So having kicked off last week with a 43 miler on Sunday, I added another 30 miles getting to the office and back. Even with my basic maths, a 30 miler on Saturday would top 100 miles for the week. The only thing in the way was Friday night.

A confession. I haven't had a drink for six weeks. It's been part of the plan all along, ever since I got back from Italy I've pledged not to drink until my nephew's 18th on December 10th. To be honest, it's been easy - all I've had to do is not go down the pub. I've had a couple of close shaves along the way, but mostly I've found it easy to say no.

But the end of last week was the toughest moment of all. I really, really wanted a pint, the rugby's on down The Boat and the Guinness is flowing. Somehow - don't ask me how - I managed to stay strong and stick to the soda and limes. But watching the boys downing those beers took me to breaking point, I can tell you.

The good news is that I feel great on Saturday morning and head off for a regular 30 mile route with two biggish climbs book-ending a fast, flat section in the middle. The final climb up to the Beacon is a tough slog, but worth it when I top out on the highest point of the Chilterns.

Having toughed it out on Friday night, I'm back on the straight and narrow for Saturday evening watching the rugby and enjoying 40 pence pints of the dreaded soda and limes, while watching the boys descending into degeneracy.

Sunday, we have a group ride planned with Me, Chris, Kevin, David and Ali. I have a new route mapped out and everyone's keen: until Sunday morning that is. Incredibly, Ali is first to bail out with a text at 5am saying he is still on the sauce. Chris is next - unable to unglue himself from his bed. David's attendance is tenuous at best and is another no-show. Which leaves me and Kev.

Kev hasn't been doing much riding recently but he weighs 10.5 stone, so it makes no difference, plus he's a natural rider, so I'm always playing catch-up. But through the early morning mist we crank out the miles to Redbourn and then on to St Albans in a big loop that goes under and over the MI.

Disaster strikes near Apsley as Kev endures three punctures, but with his last tube we make it up to Bovingdon and the last few miles back into Berko via Whelpley Hill. Fortunately, we're going down Whelpley Hill, because it's a steep bastard. Unfortunately, it's a greasy, slippy death track as I discover when Kev locks up his rear wheel in front of me and I hang on the brakes so hard that I'm pitched into the crap on the wrong side of the road before losing my battle with adhesion and gravity.

It's not too bad. A bit of a graze and a big, dirty smear down my left side, but it could have been worse - there could have been a car coming the other way.

Back in the pub I refresh myself with a pot of tea in the company of David, who has finally shown up and bask in the self-righteousness of starting the new week with a solid 30 miles under my belt.

I've called the route Red Rooster because it goes through Redbourn and it was an early start. Plus, Little Red Rooster is a top blues choon, so there.

Here's the details:



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