Saturday. Let me explain a part of this title. I was standing indecisively at the Land's End Hotel "all you can fit in your plastic bag lined handbag so you can save on lunch" breakfast buffet, when I hear the Eastern European waitress ask the waiter (a local lad) this: (and you must now let your inside voice become that of Magda from Jack Dee's inimitable sitcom) "If is still alive, then how can be legendary?" What a cracking question. A real Paxman poser. I must hear the answer. So, as cover for my illicit eavesdropping, I start to slowly fill my bowl with Muesli, spoon by spoon by spoon. He is dumbstruck, absolutely stumped. "Er, well, it's er, a bit hard to explain". Tell me about it mate! and so I spoon on. "It's sort of a fig...." and then, quite suddenly, they both look at me. "Can I help you Sir?". I want to say in my Robin Day voice "Just answer the question!" but instead it's Basil Fawlty "No, yes, no, good, all fine, yes, thanks, all absolutely fine, thank you, thank you" and retreat to my table with a small hillock of muesli that then takes me the best part of half an hour to wade through.
Anyway, the upshot is that as there was no definitive answer I am now able to say that today I rode out with the legendary Jim Morrison, who is alive and well and living in Chudleigh. In fact, we rode out not once, nor twice but thrice. We met at the church and I confidently led the way out of Bodmin. We're off! It's a thrill to start the ride with such .... oh dear... computer says noooohh. So back the other way. We're off! It's thrill to start .... oh deary dear, computer says noooohh. Jim's confidence in me is fading. There's only one road left and it goes straight up the north face of the bloody Eiger. A real lungburster that includes a copper in his car laughing at us. But it's the right road and the computer is happy. We're off! It's a thrill ... blah, blah, blah.
Seven hours and 123km later we arrive in South Molton and I bonked. No, not that. What kind of blog do you think this is? It's what cyclists call a hypoglycaemic episode caused by not eating enough proper food (or excessive muesli intake.... same thing really). Luckily, Jim produced a couple of bananas and the bonk was over. Dinner in The Stag's Head (pretty much perfect) with Jim, Mary and Liz. More than enough to eat and drink to prevent the bonk (what? .....oh puuhhlease!). Tomorrow, the long ride to Bath. Looking forward to it.
Those ride stats in detail:
Distance: 123.03 km
Cumulative distance: 228.66 km
Time: 6h 46m 10s
Max speed: 69.1 kph (wheeeeee!)
Left arm: brown
Right arm: red (bit of a cock up on the suncream front)
Anyway, the upshot is that as there was no definitive answer I am now able to say that today I rode out with the legendary Jim Morrison, who is alive and well and living in Chudleigh. In fact, we rode out not once, nor twice but thrice. We met at the church and I confidently led the way out of Bodmin. We're off! It's a thrill to start the ride with such .... oh dear... computer says noooohh. So back the other way. We're off! It's thrill to start .... oh deary dear, computer says noooohh. Jim's confidence in me is fading. There's only one road left and it goes straight up the north face of the bloody Eiger. A real lungburster that includes a copper in his car laughing at us. But it's the right road and the computer is happy. We're off! It's a thrill ... blah, blah, blah.
Seven hours and 123km later we arrive in South Molton and I bonked. No, not that. What kind of blog do you think this is? It's what cyclists call a hypoglycaemic episode caused by not eating enough proper food (or excessive muesli intake.... same thing really). Luckily, Jim produced a couple of bananas and the bonk was over. Dinner in The Stag's Head (pretty much perfect) with Jim, Mary and Liz. More than enough to eat and drink to prevent the bonk (what? .....oh puuhhlease!). Tomorrow, the long ride to Bath. Looking forward to it.
Those ride stats in detail:
Distance: 123.03 km
Cumulative distance: 228.66 km
Time: 6h 46m 10s
Max speed: 69.1 kph (wheeeeee!)
Left arm: brown
Right arm: red (bit of a cock up on the suncream front)
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