I’ve never ridden so long in such cold conditions.
When I was warm enough to look around - the trees were beautiful in their winter plumage. Heavy frost hanging on every limb and twig. A williwaw would shake the branches and produce fake snow.
The deep fog hushed the sounds, and all I could hear was the hiss from my tyres on the wet road. I puffed like a steam train up steep inclines, my breath freezing on my moustache.
As the entire field slowly passed me, those with beards had impressive icicles. They looked like Victorian arctic adventurers. I hoped I looked as impressive!
I'm sure this is true of all long distance cyclists, our eyes light up when somebody asks politely, "Have you ridden far?"
You, my friend, have fallen straight into my trap.
"About 90 miles"
A look of disbelief, as they check the frozen fog hasn't been replaced by bright sunshine outside.
"Nine zero?"
"Er, yes."
"Crikey - must be nearly home now?"
The poor Pub landlord, not only are they in the trap, but the door is closing and about to get locked behind them.
"Nearly, I reckon another 40 miles in the Chilterns and we are done"
Said with the same delivery as somebody just popping out to the shops, for some milk.
They don't need to know that I almost gave up at Alton when all of my trusty gadgets threw in the towel with prematurely empty batteries. The feet like ice blocks. The hands so cold they become dumb hammers which makes for clumsy gear changes. The constant wrestle with clothing that is either warm enough to sweat - and thus make me cold. Or cool enough not to sweat, and I'm even colder.
But even on the tough rides, there is a redeeming moment. A reason that makes it worthwhile.
The climb out of Goring and across the rolling plateau around Ipsden was that bit.
Bright stars shone in a clear sky. Almost dark enough to see the milky way. The silhouette of the Berkshire downs just visible on the horizon. And the myriad hoots and shuffles in the hedgerow as the beasts of the countryside go about their night time business.
In the middle distance I can see the mesmerising lights of cars on a main road, tracing the invisible curves of the land. But this lane is empty, with not a car to be seen. My trusty winter front light, shining the way: the only battery device that had the stamina for this ride, allowing me to enjoy this quiet solitude on a clear winters night.
I love riding at night. Even in the middle of winter.