First of the year, an andante senza moto 77k with El Prez, who has a couple of trapped nerves and cervical-vertebra problems. Nothing noteworthy, other than much waiting at the tops of hills, and the bottom half of my front Raceblade falling off. I heard it, but like a twit I didn't look back to see what it was I'd just ridden over, so I didn't notice the damage until I got home. Oh well.
Coming down the penultimate hill I glanced down at the eTrex and saw that I was doing 69.5 kph. Pedalling like buggery put it up, very slowly, to 69.6 but it refused to go any further. Ambling along on the flat a minute later I noticed that I was now doing 70.1 kph, and realized that I had been looking at the distance ridden. Colour me div.
Came into the house, lungs full of the beautiful air of the regional park we live in, to find that the missus had made broccoli soup and the house was full of the vile stench.