So, doop & I had a lovely weekend out on our bikes (doop's first decent ride on his very nice new Condor Fratello, collected on Friday). We set off on Saturday morning armed with a map and a vague direction (south-east-ish from Bermondsey), with the intention of making the rest up as we went along.
Down through Bromley and Keston to Cudham (where we accidentally went up a sodding enormous and very unexpected hill. On foot), then to Ide Hill and Chiddingstone Causeway. Lunch at Langton Green, where there was a Good Beer Guide pub with excellent chips. On through the Weald to Flimwell and Hawkhurst, then down to Hastings, where my stated intention of avoiding the A21 led us to another 1 in 5 (Stonestile Lane).
Those paying attention and/or who know the area will have observed that this, whilst only covering about 110k, was pretty damn hilly. The light drizzle/mist may have actually been a good thing as I was getting fairly warm anyway. (I actually found myself rather enjoying the greyness - sign one that I may finally be losing it.)
We found a nice hotel on the seafront, and retired after a shower and a splendid curry. Then up again on Sunday morning for an enormous breakfast, before setting off along the coast to Brighton. Via Beachy Head.
We skipped out of a bit of the climbing en route to Brighton courtesy of a recommendation by a couple of local cyclists (encountered whilst drinking Harveys at a pub) to take the Undercliff Walk from Saltdene. Which was v nice. As were the chips on the beach at Brighton, before train home to pizza & beer.
An entirely splendid weekend of cycling adventure.
So, why then am I concerned, as per the title, about my sanity?
It was the moment, towards the top of some climb or other around midday on Sunday, when I found myself thinking:
"You know, I can kind of understand why some people say they like hills."
It is TOO LATE. My marbles have departed me. My cycling fate is sealed.
Oh well.
