Went to bed last night promising my wife I wouldn't get up at 3 in the morning (she worries how little sleep I get). Awoke a little after 2, so a little over 2 hours sleep. The moon was beckoning – I had to hit the road. It was lovely and cool out, with the wind not too bad for a change.
First I had to effect yet another emergency repair of my shorts. No patience for needle and thread at this hour, so a couple of safety pins would have to do.
Next stop: gaffer tapeThe twin would be making this morning's ride. This is the spare
Sabbath Aspire I bought in case the first comes to grief. It doesn't get out as much as its slightly older brother because there's no need for it to, and for some reason it doesn't care to be ridden no handed (which predilection I've covered at that link, so no need to go on about it here).
I decided early on to hit Alpine Hill. An OS map wouldn't recognise that name, as it's my own private one for the steepest climb hereabouts. I don't do it that often because the way there is a bit traffic-strewn during the day, and I really don't like to run into cars on the hill itself as it's too narrow for comfort: once stopped, it's impossible to get restarted.
When last we met I had to get off and walk about 3/4 of the way up, so it's been on my mind to rectify that. I blame the fact that I was still getting used to a new bike, and my state of fitness that particular day – no exaggeration, I remember feeling close to passing out.
Rather than attempt it straight away I headed into town, always up for that desolate
28 Days Later ambience.
Rage-inducing house pricesOn the way back out again I annoyed the milk man.
You press are vulturesThen I nervously confronted the hill, Nathanial Rateliff & The Night Sweats sweetening the effort.
Up, up, up... then up some more. The record changed to Howling At Nothing.
The false plateau arrived, though the worst of the hill was indeed conquered. Call the rest of the way up a warmdown.
It felt marvelous.
That task completed, all that remained was to go back down again and wait for the coughing to cease and desist.
Exercise-induced asthma sucksI stopped by Rudyard Kipling's old gaff Bateman's,
Less hair. Well spotted.passed what appeared to be the scene of a horrible milk-based accident,
Looks like someone needed to be breathalysedthen visited the war monument in the village, which is lit on the anniversary of every death.
Thus endeth the ride.
<sigh>There's an L plate at the top of the drive. I've left it undisturbed, as it amuses me for some obscure reason. That's all I've got on that.