This morning’s ride started early-ish, I had an 8:40 meet up with Ben and no idea what route we’d be taking.

For whatever reason, more often than not, I choose our routes – but not today. It’s nice not knowing where we’re going, but the control freak in me wanted to know exactly what climbs we were hitting, how many KMs, when we’d be back. It took some effort not to ask but I figured it was good for me an might be more fun. Well, I did ask about the climbs but not about the distance. I assumed our early start meant at least a 70km outing though, and I knew Ben likes to climb a lot so I tried to steel myself for a lumpy leg-burner.


In the end it wasn’t so much the route or distance that kicked my arse, but rather my forgetting to eat during the outward leg towards Burford. My breakfast was modest but my efforts were huge. About 20 mins out of Burford we got onto a main road and Ben went full gas for what seemed like a long time – it was all I could do to hold onto his coat tails and sweep up another (perhaps undeserved) QOM.


The coffee and cake that came shortly after sadly never seemed to hit my blood stream, and about 40 minutes into our homeward journey I was giving it everything I had just to move along a flat road at a very slow pace. I was bonking.

A gel donated by Ben, half of which went down my leg, picked me up a bit. But for last 30km or so I was useless on even the slightest incline. It was a 98km route door to door, And I tacked on an extra 2km before getting home because I like round numbers.

It felt like 100 miles, and my lower back is still pretty pissed off about it, but as always, I never regret an hour (or four) spent on the bike.