He's beaten me to it, young Mendip Rouleur: I know what's coming
..but I was planning to write something tonight too. The fact we're both doing it makes it feel like our valedictories, of the sort soldiers in the trenches might have penned the night before a planned storming of enemy lines, with the ensuing and inevitable carnage. Yes, that's a ludicrous and overblown comparison, but then again, what we're about to do isn't trivial, as you might want to have a read here:
Cent Cols
The hills themselves hold no fear for me. I know what it's like to ride a bike up a sodding great mountain for anything up to two hours. And then do it again. And again.
But I do have plenty of other fears: managing my euphemistically-termed 'contact points' so that it doesn't feel like small bonfires are burning all across my body; eating and drinking enough without feeling like I could use it all to decorate the side of the road; 10km descents in the wet with the brakes fading like AM radio reception in the '70s; a screaming lower back when we start another big climb; a broken chain in the middle of nowhere, which is where we're going to be mostly. There's more, but they're enough.
10 days riding, 1540km distance, 37000m of ascent, give or take. I really ought to have removed the "Shut Up Legs" slogan from my crossbar, and had it replaced with "Bloody Enjoy It". Because the latter may be hard to remember at times. Equally, at other times, cresting a Pyrenean col with blue sky above and the scenery stretching out to infinity below, it'll be very, very easy.
Anyway, let's see what happens. With the exception of Mendip Rouleur, I don't yet know who my fellow travellers are - that'll be revealed on Saturday afternoon - but to them all I say 'bon courage mes braves'.
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