This morning I cycled to Titirangi. I’ve been threatening the trip for months but haven’t got around to it for a number of reasons, one of which is the rain and another being – hang on, I’m sure there was another. Oh yes, the lashings upon lashings of RAIN.
The first kilometer or so up to Scenic Drive is impossible to cycle unless you’re channeling Lance Armstrong with brass balls, which I don’t that often. It took me half an hour to push the bike up the 5:1 gradient.
I covered the 11.87km down Scenic Drive in the same amount of time. Since we live at the top of a hill, and Titirangi is at the bottom, I thought it was all downhill. Indeed, while that might describe my life, it is not an accurate axiom for Scenic Drive, which never goes around a rise where it can go over.
What I want to know is: when you’re on a bicycle, how come the wind is ALWAYS against you?
I’m sailing down Scenic Drive, thinking: “WHEEE!” and “Hmm. Should really get my brakes serviced,” but also: “That’s quite a headwind. At least it’ll be behind me on the way home.”
The disillusion is affecting my health.
After a couple of hours in Titirangi Library, I returned home via Glen Eden and Henderson Valley. In total, the round trip was 28.27km, which I verified on Google Maps, down to the last two sweat-greased decimal places.
I’m going to have to rethink my backpack. It weighs 7 freakingkg. Half the weight is the heavy-duty <insert pained laugh here> lock that Husband bought to secure the bike; I might as well just carry a safe around and lock the bike in it.
When I got home, I was too exhausted to even remove the quiche from the fridge and cut off a slice. Instead, I lay across the kitchen floor and put my face in the quiche and hoped some of the matter might make its way down my throat. One of the many times I’ve wished I had the digestive enzymes of a fly