I decided to go old-school today, so saddled up Lola and went for a 22 mile XC ride from my front door. Unfortunately, I live in the suburbs, so anything from my doorstep will necessarily involve some tarmac-based drudgery, and dull it was. Still, didn’t get wiped out by any drivers, so I guess that’s a win.

Mother Nature didn’t really want to play ball, and seemingly the first two thirds of the ride seemed to be into a headwind. It hurt. Lots. Combine this with some less than firm conditions under foot (under tyre?), and come the fun part I was hanging. I mean, REALLY, hanging. I used to think I was reasonably fit. Think again, Marmot.

At least the wind played ball for the home stretch, including my favourite stretch of cheeky singletrack. It was there that I ran into Steve, a recent returnee to the world of mountain biking. He gave me a warning about fallen trees on the run-in to the singletrack (thanks, Doris) that had made a chicane on the descent down to the riverside, and we had a good chat about trails, bikes, and idiots that think people should move out of the way just because they yell “STRAVA!” at you (TIP: don’t do that to me, I’ll only go slower and wider, and believe me, I can be VERY wide). I followed Steve down the trail before we parted ways, and I was left thinking how brilliant it is that two people who have never met before can instantly bond over something so simple as bicycles. Brilliant, aren’t they?

Anyway, I’m off to try and stretch out my quads. I suspect tomorrow is going to hurt…