Rhythm Thief
Legendary Member
- Location
- Ross on Wye
The best bit of advice I received on my recent "not sure about riding to work" thread was short and succinct and consisted of the letters "MTFU". So yesterday I did just that and pedalled to work. Not a big deal for most of you I know, but I'm old and unfit.
It went pretty well, in the end. The trip to work was fantastic: the sun was out, the hills weren't as steep as I imagined and most of the ride seemed to be downhill. I made it into work in 1 hour 10 minutes exhibiting no signs of distress and thinking I was a natural cyclist.
Coming home at four o'clock this morning ... well, it was ok at first but after five or six miles I was exhibiting signs of the sort of distress more usually associated with being murdered in the bath. The reason the journey in had been so easy is that it's downhill most of the way from Ross to Gloucester, which - the more intelligent and perceptive of you will have realised - means that the converse applies. The journey home was a bit of a nightmare, not helped by the fact that I "hit the wall" about two thirds of the way back and spent most of the last few miles with the same expression on my face as in that famous photo of Tommy Simpson on the Ventoux. Only quite a lot slower.
Still, I did it. I was remarkably relieved to get home and go to bed (after a large but undignified meal of, well, anything I could find in the kitchen piled onto a plate and shovelled down my gaping gob, and a bottle of beer). It took me 15 minutes longer to get home than to get in, but this is still well within the two hours I was allowing myself for the trip. I think I'll be doing it again, but next time I'll be sure to try and eat a few more energy bars before I set off home.
It went pretty well, in the end. The trip to work was fantastic: the sun was out, the hills weren't as steep as I imagined and most of the ride seemed to be downhill. I made it into work in 1 hour 10 minutes exhibiting no signs of distress and thinking I was a natural cyclist.
Coming home at four o'clock this morning ... well, it was ok at first but after five or six miles I was exhibiting signs of the sort of distress more usually associated with being murdered in the bath. The reason the journey in had been so easy is that it's downhill most of the way from Ross to Gloucester, which - the more intelligent and perceptive of you will have realised - means that the converse applies. The journey home was a bit of a nightmare, not helped by the fact that I "hit the wall" about two thirds of the way back and spent most of the last few miles with the same expression on my face as in that famous photo of Tommy Simpson on the Ventoux. Only quite a lot slower.
Still, I did it. I was remarkably relieved to get home and go to bed (after a large but undignified meal of, well, anything I could find in the kitchen piled onto a plate and shovelled down my gaping gob, and a bottle of beer). It took me 15 minutes longer to get home than to get in, but this is still well within the two hours I was allowing myself for the trip. I think I'll be doing it again, but next time I'll be sure to try and eat a few more energy bars before I set off home.
