Today was my first day back in the saddle since mid December, as I’d been off cycling games since then with a sick note for full body man ‘flu, grade one.
Oh it was terrible. It was one of those rides where I question the sanity of cycling to work and “Do I really like this cycling lark at all anyway?”. The legs were flaccid lumps of dead flesh and the lungs were pain balloons that burned with every gasped breath. I won’t mention the parts of me in contact with the saddle, suffice to say this was also the first ride on my new 95psi slick tyres and rigid forks. There was the devil’s own headwind, then it started raining too and I found I’d left my waterproof jacket at home.
An older gentleman on a pannier equipped, heavy duty touring bike passed me with a cheery “Good morning!”, and I had plenty of excuses, but no answer other than a raspy “morn-gasp-ing”. Sure it was my first day back, I was still a bit ill, I’d a heavy backpack, my new forks had altered the geometry slightly and I wasn’t perfectly comfortable, the squeak from my front mudguard was annoying … but in on the road these things mean nothing. The simple fact is, not a single extra fraction of a mph could be dredged from down deep anywhere and I had to let him go on his way.
Then I get into work, strip off and flick on the shower. Nothing. Dead. Great. Also someone had helped themselves to my shower gel and left me the empty bottle, presumably as a token of their thanks. I had to get washed up at the sink using the stingy antibacterial hand soap from the dispenser. I’ve half a mind to get the bus home.
Wait. Bus? What am I saying?
Sorry, it must have been the chemicals in that soap.
