Blimey! Actually enjoyed that!!

  First semi-serious TT yesterday....

  ....Rubbish time etc but felt really smooth and comfy on the bike.  Didn't feel like too much of an ordeal physically either - things are definitely very different this year.  I've always loved this particular course - rural and slightly rolling - it's just a shame there's only one event a year on it these days.

  Perhaps a slightly over-cautious first half but picked it up nicely coming back.  I even look more at home on the bike, look!

    So, all good.  Well, perhaps not ALL...  Like a true athlete, I immediately headed for the Fat Cat (www.fatcatpub.co.uk) for a celebratory pint of Summer Lightning.  I left the DIY disc wheel in full sunshine on the back seat and some of the glue came unstuck on the rim, leaving it looking very sorry for itself.  (That's the last time I buy cheap gluesticks from The Range!)  No problem, I'll just epoxy it together next time.

  I'm going to start throwing in some slightly more intensive speed work / intervals now because this year I know my body can handle it, unlike previous years.  So pics of my contorted sweaty face on the turbo are bound to follow soon....

  These informal club time trials always make me smile, there's something just so British about them.  No 'facilities' as such - It made me smile during my warm up ride that every bit of hedgerow seemed occupied by a bashful looking rider have a surreptitious slash.  Brilliant.  It reminded me of this previous blog rant a few years ago...

29/8/2010

  Another 22:40!!!  Arrrgghhhh!!!

  It's like groundhog day, deja vu etc.  22:47 this time.  Aaaarrrgghhhh.  Quite a funny day though in spite the usual gale force winds and heavy showers etc, one of those days where you suddenly notice what a ridiculous hobby you've got!  Turn up, dodge into the HQ to sign on and pick up your race number whilst avoiding as much anoraky conversation about bike components as possible.  Find a windswept layby near the start, park in a puddle and sit on the turbo warming up while all the passing motorists take the piss.  Some prat shouts 'Hey, Lance Armstrong!' as he goes past (He could have shouted 'Hey Wiggo!' FFS).  Ha ha ha etc.  Oh, and then it starts raining.  Lovely.  Then some deadly boring bloke comes over halfway through your warm-up and starts a dreadful anoraky conversation about bloody trackpumps of all effing things.  You think about killing yourself briefly...

  Race time - off to the start.  3-2-1 you're off!  Within a minute you start asking yourself why on earth you got back into this sport again, wobbling up a busy dual carriageway, wrestling with a superlight bike that catches every gust and every wake of every passing car and truck.  Then everything starts hurting.  But then you hit 30 mph a couple of times and it cheers you up briefly...  until it starts pissing down and you spend the last two miles worrying that you're completely invisible in the spray and expect a tanker to roll over you at any minute.  The last mile takes forever but eventually you cross the line to find you've gone just as fast as the last five attempts...

  Back to the van, get changed in your muddy lay-by, quickly drop your number back at the HQ whilst avoiding as much anoraky chat about bike components as possible and go home.

  "Where did you come?" asks the family excitedly.  They seem puzzled when you declare you have no interest in where you came or have any idea how fast anyone else went.  All you know is that you did a '22:40 something'.

  "What's the point in that?" they ask.

  Hmmmm....