It's a new dawn, it's a new day...

and we're feeling good. Finally a weekend with good cycling weather - in fact it was perhaps a little too hot.

This was our last chance to convince ourselves that we might stand a chance of doing 100 miles a day, every day for over a week. Patrick bailed on Saturday due to 'a better offer' so Jules and I met at our usual location for another jaunt around the countryside. Being 'experienced cyclists' (having had our bikes for almost a month) we came prepared with all the essentials - water, bananas, PBJs and inner tubes.

We didn't have a map though. Claiming that we knew the area well enough, we decided to 'wing it' and simply kept following 'nice looking roads'. The day went almost according to plan and I arrived home some 90 miles (and 2 ascents up Britwell hill) later at about 4pm.

Sunday morning was a slightly later start, and the legs didn't feel too bad. Patrick decided to drag his creaky frame out of bed and join us and we spent another glorious sunny day eating away at the miles.

I think we're as ready as we'll ever be.

Wrong time, wrong place...

JB and I planned another training ride for last Sunday.  The weather forecast on Friday did not look great, but we were assured Sunday would start a bit "iffy" but get progressively better.

The sky cleared around 11:00am so we agreed to meet at a suitable mid-point and invent a route from there.  Having learned my lesson about food & drink, my bar bag was packed with suitable sandwiches and fruit and the scene was set for full afternoon cruising round the lanes previously frequented by Inspector Morse.

We started with a fantastic descent towards Benson, and half way down, I realised that JB was no longer on my tail - was I going that fast? Could he not keep up?.  I stopped as the road flattened to allow him to catch up. The brown muddy stripe straight up his hi-viz jacket and across his face clearly explained why he had chosen to put a little distance between us. Must get those mud guards fitted...

The big event of the ride occurred sometime later.  The weather turned pretty grim, so we stopped and sheltered and took the opportunity to refuel. Things brightened up again.  "Looks like it's blown over".  We set off again, through Cholsey and out on one of those long, exposed, bleak, wind-tunnel like roads that you really don't want to get a puncture on.

The wind got stronger, the pedalling was tough, the rain fell in chunks and my front tyre, along with our enjoyment, deflated in seconds.  Puncture repair in those conditions reminded me of the Apollo 13 scene where the unfortunate astronauts have to fix their CO2 filter with something like a milk carton, colostomy bag, sellotape and a sweaty sock.  Sadly, our puncture repair skills were no where near as good as the honed NASA training that Jim Lovell and the guys had, and by the time we got back to Cholsey, it was time to reach for the pump again.

5 minutes later, it seemed like the repair would hold and I could limp back home. We shelved our 70 mile plan and returned home to warmth and comfort.

Note to self: Buy spare inner tubes & 'modern' puncture repair kit.

It's all about food

There's just over 20 days to go before we board a train to Penzance and begin an 850 mile journey from one quiet corner of England to an even quieter corner of Scotland.

The team has been training as hard as their hectic lives will let them.  Patrick is ready. His 'Retro-man' physique allowed him to do a 190 mile round trip to some Essex back water and he's brimming with confidence.

Julian was looking pretty solid - he managed a hundred miler a couple of weekends ago, on top of several previous 70 milers.  However, a bout of recent 'man flu' has ejected him from the saddle and he's struggling to get back to 'full health'.  The Judge will no doubt come good.

Nige was doing ok.  A couple of sensible 70 milers helped instill some sense of well-being, but his confidence took a big knock last weekend.  The weather was nice, so he decided to pop out for a few hours in the afternoon.  Feeling invicible, he forgot to eat any food en-route and probably didn't drink enough either. Cramp killed the ride after 54 miles and left him weeping like a baby. 

All this pain and suffering prompted some Internet research on 'what and when to eat'.  Suddenly it all makes sense. Man cannot survive on 1 fun size mars bar alone...