In the middle of the night, I was rudely awoken by something landing on my tent. I prized my little eyes open to see the spectacular silhouette of a gigantic rat on the roof (real horror movie shit). All that has remained in my mind of the moment is the size of this motherfuckers meaty tail. Without hesitation, I punched it as hard as I could (I would loved to have seen a video of this from the outside). I think the little shit was after my pâté du compaign. When I unzipped to come out in the morning I have expected to see a rat lying on the floor with a black eye and bandages on its tail.
Not wanting to fall into the same trap as last Sunday (running out of food with no where to buy more). I stocked up heavily on supplies from the 1st shop I came across. For sure my shoulders would be aching like a bad boy later, but I’d much rather that than spending a day in the sparsely populated mountains feeling hungry and sorry for myself.
I had to try a different tactic today from yesterday as I didn’t want the brutality of another butt-fuck-a-thon on my hands. I was going to try and break the day up into bite size chunks. Cycle for 20 miles, 30 minute break, cycle for 20 miles and then another break and so on. I was still able to cover some distance, yet maintain a sunny disposition.
I carried on like that until I had covered about 90kms. Then I noticed a sign for a McDonald’s I’m a nearby city. I’m not really one for the cusine of chef Ronald, but I do enjoy the free wifi which he offers. Before I managed to find those famous Golden Arches that seem the attract every child and fat fuck of the land like some sort of homing beacon, I came across an all you can eat seafood buffet, steak frites, chocolate mousse and a bottle of wine. All for 13 euros and it had the free wifi. An obvious no brainier.
I took the chance to speak with 2 of my favourite mother fuckers on the planet to have ever come out of a vagina. Mr Joe Crum who truly is my full on brother from an entirely different mother and full time chill partner extrodinare. I could spend a life time in his company and it wouldn’t be enough, and Rupert mother fucking Peters who is literally my partner in crime, number 1 cycling companion, my main life’s inspiration for the past 15 years and ultimately a cool fucking dude. (No words I could scrape together about these 2 would be adequate enough to some up how I feel about these guys (apart from maybe a couple of knobs that I know))
With a belly full of octopus and mussels, I left for a spot of mountain climbing in the dark (it’s much easier at night due to the temperature drop). Although it was at the expense of some no doubt amazing views.
A big shout out to all of my regular hill climbs of Sheffield and the Peak District;
All leg shredders in their own right with gradients up to 33%. They are all relatively short and sweet. But tonight I was playing in the champions league. I didn’t even know what this bad boy was called, (I will find out) but it went on and on and on and on. I could see much but I knew my body was working overtime as the sweet was pouring from my face, dripping from my nose and saturating my beard. My handle bars were soaked and my arms were glistening, I was losing my mountain climbing virginity and it was FUCKING AWEEESOOOOME. It never got steeper than 12%. On I went past the hour mark up and over 600 meters. Once I eventually crested it, I let out a mighty HOWL and declared to the world in no uncertain terms that I was the king of it.
Shortly afterwards the paved road turned to gravel and stone. Not much longer after that I got a puncture (which I thought was a cruel way to end an amazing climb. I stepped of my bike happy with the day’s work and would fix it in the morning, for now it was time for bed.
“PAAAAAAAAAIN FOR PLEASUUUURE”