i had planned a weekend off the bike. this is because i am getting married, and a part of this process is the inevitable stagathon. it was an excuse for all my cycling buddies to ritually humiliate me in the most spectacular style, through a combination of inappropriate garb and a terrifying excess of jager-related alcohol.
act one consisted of taking me mountain-biking, something i particularly despise. i had to wear the new team kit. i then had to wear the team kit later on a tour of bristol. i got wolf-whistled by rugby fans and laughed and cheered by a wedding party in clifton. the scott contessa is steve’s wife’s bicycle. it rode like a dream, although i got dropped by the chaps on their super-quick cyclo-cross bikes on any slight incline and they laughed heartily. as my luck would have it, lots of old colleagues and friends happened to be out in ashton court at that precise moment and it was duly tweeted by the owner of a local bike shop out on a ‘mountain bike demo day’.
i have a hangover that i suspect will last until thursday or friday. such is the heavy toll of this rites of passage event. it doesn’t help that i barely drink at all these days. today i have drunk about 9 cups of tea, eaten 3 welsh cakes, a packet of chocolate bourbons, a snickers flapjack and one apple. today is an off-day. i avoided any foodstuffs that might be tainted with clenbuterol.