Last night after work, I cycled down to Conway Hall for a "Stop the War Coalition" meeting in support of Julian Assange. Early on, near Ladbroke Grove, I stopped to see if a cyclist, who was sitting on the pavement and examining his bike, needed any help or tools (he was fine, just worried about the rattling noise the bike had started to make). I didn't bother getting back into lycra before setting off, which seemed to boggle one chap on a road bike on Gower Street, who kept looking at my yellow track bike, then my civvies, then back again in some state of confusion. I think he was even wondering if I had nicked the bike, but then he saw the Specalized MTB shoes on my feet. And was still perturbed.
After the meeting and several drinks, I went East along Clerkenwell Road, turned on to Farringdon Road and just let rip, stopping only for the lights, keeping up a hell of a pace all the way down to Camberwell New Road (oh, and shame on you, Mr Lycra-clad Roadie, for jumping the lights there just to finally pull away; if I ever meet you while I'm sober and in Lycra, you're toast). Once again, found myself wishing my regular commute offered that much fun.
This morning's commute was much more fun than usual, because I still had the memory of last night's racing in my bones.
