After last night’s thunderstorms, it’s a relief to see the day dawn clear. A quick bowl of muesli, a brief chat about the day’s news with Digby and Pike, and then I’m clacketing out of the door in my cycling gear, with so much suncream on my face that I must look like an albino.
I always imagine that I can ride into the centre of town in 7 minutes, even though I’ve never done it in less than 9. Thus, not for the first time, 7:53am finds me hurtling down the drive, hoping to make the town square by 8:00am to meet the old boys from the club for our weekly sortie. Luckily there must have been plenty to discuss about Thierry’s wedding last night – the entire club was invited – so all 15-20 of them are still standing there, astride their bikes, ready for the off.
The ride itself passes in a happy blur, as most of them do these days. Once upon a time, I’d have found 100km an unthinkable distance; now it feels almost comfortable, so I’m deeply looking forward to the Ride London 100 (miles) next Sunday.