Get on your bikes and ride!

Never on a Sunday? Au contraire! This is the one day of the week when the arsehole petrolheads don't get on the road till lunchtime. I had decided that one big limiting factor on the bank holiday had been an aerodynamic matter: with the hair on, and the beard getting bushy, I'd have to work way too hard. And the weather didn't look promising. Why not stay in bed?

But I took care of all that, with a brutalising haircut and an almost complete de-bearding. This morning, with an espresso and a bowl of cornflakes (the kidney-shattering Crunchy Nut variety) inside me, all I needed to propel me on my way was a camera-wielding Sachiko to get me on to my iron horse, or steel steed, or however you want to refer to a non-aluminium bike:

That's the finest cycling apparel, such as I used to don ever morning for the ride from the top of Streatham Common to Farringdon. The Solo jacket! The Etxeondo gloves! The Sidi Dominator shoes! And under them, the DeFeet socks! Damn, but I was dressed to impress. Was I up to it?

A bit shaky. Left cleat a bit out of whack. Heel brushing frame, not a good thing at all. But a little practice can improve such things.

Knuckles white under the blue glove, I readied myself for takeoff at the only red light at which I'd had to come to a complete stop after an epic 5km. Only a few hundred yards left till home, and the thrill was evident:

Well no, it wasn't, but I was a happy bunny, and an exhausted one too. Next weekend, if the weather cooperates, ought to feature the same deal but with a much longer ride. Could the 10km barrier be broken? And with the computer showing I've done 9,400km on this bike, almost all of it in the 18 months before my big relapse in 2006, will I get it past 10,000 before the end of next year?