The morning after the night before

The morning after a Condors’ social is never easy.  This one hurt a little less than sometimes, but it still hurt.  No excuses though, the ride had been agreed and so the ride must be ridden.

After the usual wardrobe struggles any cyclists faces when they open the curtains and see a sky that encompasses everything from blue to white to grey to black, I tottered off to Rick’s.  Five brave souls had stepped up for some hangover purgatory and soon we were away.  Mid way through town someone mentioned that there had been a post on Facebook asking us to wait for someone who was running late.  I sprinted back to find our lost sheep, but to no avail.  

The ride made it out of Oxford uneventfully after that, but just as we cleared the city limits my rear tyre blew.  After two goes at sorting out a nasty gash in the tyre it looked too dicey to risk a proper tyre failure further afield, so with heavy heart I said my goodbyes and headed home.

Silently cursing my decision to get out of bed at all, I skulked back into town with probably only 6 miles under my belt.  As I hit the Botley Road I glanced down and realised I was doing 22mph with almost no effort; the wind was fully on my back.  Never a man to pass up a cheap Strava gain I looped round and steeled myself for a full blast sprint from Botley to town.  The lights by maccy’s hit green and I was away, 30mph came and went and I hunkered down and sucked up the pain.  Every light was green and no buses, got caught slightly in traffic at the last bridge, but still over 20mph and quickly up to speed.  Definitely a personal record, maybe top 5 overall, happy boy.

Pleased with my work I pottered back across to East Oxford.   Now sweaty from the sprint there seemed no point in going home, I figured I’d do some hill reps on Headington Hill and Morrell Avenue so at least I had something to show for the morning.  No dramas if the tyre goes, only a matter of metres from the girlfriend’s place.  

The first time up Headington Hill was a dream, wind on my back, a fellow Condor already midway up the hill to chase down – perfect conditions for another PB.  Again the lights were green all the way, holding a good 15mph as the steeper part kicked in I gave my pink and black brother a cheery “see you at the top buddy” as I powered past (trying not to show just how much I was hurting).  I got over the top and tried to regain my composure before he caught me up.  

Another 3 times up and down the hill passed uneventfully, last time round I came down Morrell and realised how strong the headwind was, I was barely making 15mph on the descent with the brakes off.   No Strava addict can resist an invitation like that so I did another quick run up Headington Hill then U-turned and headed back down, bracing myself for a full scale assault on Morrell.  

The legs were pretty tired by this point, but I got a good run into the bottom and was cruising happily at 20mph into the start of the hill.  I glanced down at the Garmin to see how my pace was holding up and at that point, after looking at my Garmin all morning, I finally saw something to make any rider’s blood run cold:  “Distance 0ft”.

Hoping against hope, whispering silent prayers to Eddy Merckx I reached from the bars to the Garmin and pressed the Start/Stop button.  You already know what’s coming.  “Timer Started”.

Postscript

I rode back to the girlfriend’s and she was marvellous.  I told the sorry tale above, she sent me to the shower and made me an omelette, a chicken sandwich and a salad.  Protein and silent consolation, there is no greater gift for a despondent cyclist.  She is a treasure.

I’m over it now, they’re only Strava times, it’s only a few climbing feet that didn’t make it onto VeloViewer.  It really doesn’t matter after all does it?  

Yes.  It does.