I can’t complain. I’ve cycled the cobbles of Flanders, climbed the best mountains in the French Alps, ridden through sun-soaked crop fields in Dorset, mountain biked the Atlas Mountains and snorkelled in the Indian Ocean. It’s been quite a year. Add to that a thoroughly enjoyable visit to Valencia in Spain and Verona in Italy…
It’s always a good at this time of year to take a moment to reflect on what is happened in the last 12 months. Was it a good year? Did I do all that I set to? and perhaps the biggest question of all, did I make the most of it? In yet another COVID…
It really isn’t about the bike
I can honestly say that I am amazed I didn’t crash at this point as there were a number of times I was jolted away from a hedge at the side of the road by a shot of adrenalin at the last minute. At one point I even had to slap myself on the face!
This really is edited down!
We used to base our rides around the route. Now we base them around the cafe stop, the wind and then the route in that order
If my Strava personal assistant (and let’s call her Sally) offered me the chance of setting up such a goal, reminded me of it, reported against my progress and even gave me a nudge if I was below schedule for that period, would it make me work a bit harder?
I had stayed at Liz’s house in London the night before as they were away somewhere and I think we were babysitting or something. Either way, it meant I had to get up very early if I was going to get to Blenheim Palace on time. The race was due to start at 9.30am and…
I agreed to climb Stelvio because I always liked the idea of telling people I had. But now I was at the bottom, in the soaring June heat my thoughts were very different.
The task was simple. Find 19 people and get them to ride with me from London to Paris. Oh boy!
It’s a morbid thing to say, but I said recently to someone that if I died tomorrow, don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve crammed a lot into my years compared to some.
As they stood at the counter, espresso shots in hand, their eyes never left each other as they necked the hot coffee, trying hard not to flinch under the heat of the liquid and the bitterness of the gritty drink. “Two more”, said the rival. “Each!” Added Adrian
But most importantly, the moral of the story is get off your arse Crow