I was going to regale you with tales of city riding with the O/H from yesterday, but I saw the sun was shining and decided I'd get out early (for a Sunday) and get a ride in before the rain we were forecast arrived. Don't get me wrong, it was an enjoyable ride, but in involved A Hill. Me and hills, I'm sure I've mentioned before, don't exactly get along. So gather round, one and all, to hear the tale of an overweight guy, a crappy bike and a slight incline.
About two and three-quarter miles in I took a wrong turn. Don't ask me how, but I went left at a junction when I should've gone straight across. Not a problem, I knew where I was, and I knew how to get to where I wanted to be. It would just involve A Hill. I'd been up this Hill before, albeit from the other side, and it had made me walk my bike to the top. I vowed today I would defeat it, even if it took all my strength.
A mile later I was nearing my adversary, dropped a few gears and found a comfortable cadence. I was never going to be able to spin my way up at 120 rpm, but I found my sweet spot and started climbing. About half way I had to drop another gear or two, and passed an elderly couple walking the other direction. Inwardly I was glad they weren't heading my way, as I was certain they were making better pace than me.
After what felt like hours of turning the pedals and inching slowly towards the top of the Hill I saw the junction ahead of me and breathed a sigh of relief. Confident I had this Hill beat I put on a quick burst of speed, got to the junction and turned right. There was still more Hill in front of me. I'd forgot about my earlier wrong turn and had expected to be greeted at the junction by a nice, downhill stretch. Instead, I was facing another half-mile of Hill. My heart sank, my legs buckled, and I wobbled across my lane as the truth hit me. I was only half way up, and was certain I'd used most of my reserves to get to this point. There was only one thing I could do.
I made sure the pedals kept turning and moved down to the granny ring. This wasn't just a bike ride now. this was a battle for survival. It was the prize fight of the century. Fat Man vs A Hill. I stopped looking up the hill and focused on the road twenty feet in front of me, convinced that some time soon I'd be at the top without realising. That's not how hill climbing works, not for me. All it did was allow the Hill to fight back by getting steeper. Eventually I took a quick glance further along the road and there, less than three-hundred yards away was the mini-roundabout that marked success. Once there, the road would, thankfully, drop away down the other side of the hill. Two hundred yards... one hundred... my legs screamed at me "Just walk it over, please!". I told them to shut up, and pushed one final time.
I've never felt so happy about being able to freewheel as I did on the way down the other side. The rest of the ride can be summed up as a pleasant bimble, only slightly disrupted by a prat in a Jag who was less than happy the shared cycle path dropped me off the pavement into the ASL box ahead of him and beeped at me as soon the the lights went to red and amber.
This was more than made up for by the encounter I had a few miles on, again waiting for the elusive green light, which involved a young (infants school age) child yelling "Hiya!" at me, and resulted in a brief conversation in which she noted I was on a bike, that she liked my bike, but it looked too big for her, and finished with a cheerful "I have a bike at home! But you can't ride it, it's my Princess bike." and all the while her parents were trying not to burst out laughing.
Great ride all considered, and it's amazing how quickly 10+ mile rides have become my usual.
Oh, and I tracked the ride on Strava, so you can see the Hill that almost killed me, just to check if it's just a largish speed bump I'm exaggerating about:
http://www.strava.com/activities/80928667