I love Saturdays. A long lazy lie in. A fine breakfast at the table with my family. Then a long leisurely walk, while a large bird or leg of dead animal roasts slowly in the oven. That may be more of a Sunday option, but we like to break with tradition and buck convention. Maybe some televised spectacle of sport, maybe a cheeky pint of the local ale. It is the weekend after all.
I haven’t had a drink for a month. A lie in? GTFO. I thought I was decadent when I stayed in bed until 6:35 this morning. Taking Miriam downstairs to make my breakfast and hers. Before she changed her mind, “I’m tired Daddy”, and went back upstairs and got back into our bed with Alex.
Leaving me to contemplate porridge AND raisins AND banana or porridge AND raisins AND banana AND honey. I tried to make an espresso before I left, but realised the beans I’d bought were too coarse and the water pissed thru. I still got a hit of coffee, and that coupled with my first dose of methotrexate for 3 months (only 5 mg) left my stomach rocking AND rolling as I left my family and went out on my bike.
I got out to Ide Hill, all by myself, went down Yorks and then up it. And then managed to find my way, on my own with no Garmin, to White Lane. Even taking in Pilgrims Lane and Rectory Lane. Get me. I recommend clicking on those links and having a look in street view if you’ve never been there.
I went up both of these lovely climbs in a respectable time, for me. Strangely, I felt more comfortable going up them than Leith Hill last week.
After a brief pause, to collect and hydrate myself, I began the epic journey home. I have never seen so many riders coming the other way. I was going down Beddlestead Lane back towards Streatham and there were legions of theo. I saw De Ver Cycles riders, lots of Rapha clad riders, some sky, one Lampre, and about a million Dulwich Paragon riders. At least 100 it felt like. It got to the point where I was changing “hello” to “morning” and back again and throwing in a wave every couple of minutes. Eventually, I changed my mind and just held my hand in a wave as I went by any group of more than 10 so that I could acknowledge them all.
That was fairly mindbending. What was weirder was thinking I spotted a Bristol South CC kit. Is there another kit in yellow, red, and black?
And then it got a bit weird.
I saw one of these:
He was heading from Anerley to Elmers End. I was afraid. Was I seeing things? Had I been spiked somehow?
I managed to shake that image from my head and got home.
Where I was doorstepped by two lovely Jehovah’s witnesses. After a pleasant chat, I made my excuses and left.
I refuelled with a peanut butter AND raisin AND honey AND banana sandwich, with a stovetop coffee.