christmas is coming

and swiss is getting fat....

training for cyclocross and strathpuffer is not aided by three weeks off the bike, two of which consist of gorging on cakes. no, it is not. and while i might allude to t being a bit of a feeder it is she who forces me out into the cold for a night out with tuesday boys.

and after a few weeks with very few of the regulars showing up tonight there were five of us including that very individual who claimed he wouldn't be out as the group 'weren't fit enough'. great i thought, of all the weeks i turn up it's the one where i've conditioned with lard.

so i stick on the wheel of gymbolina (he's done ten miles today already. on a trainer. yeah, right) to see his form. and he's in the granny waaaaay too early, unfortunately as he's being tailed by a wheezing fat man it doesn't bother him overmuch.

so i guddle along, falling back, catching up. there's a study to be done somewhere about the detrimental effects of night shift on the body. i'm missng a gear and there's nothing i can do about it. still, gymbolina is alive with cracks. he can only climb at one pace - his - and he's just plain not good when he's off the fire road. and his head is rubbish. he likes to nip off your lines on the overtake even if you're queueing up behind. i briefly mug him on a singletrack climb before sliding off a rock and gracelessly into a bush. the acceleration does me for the next climb. i slide down into the wee gears and bide my time.

which is the singletrack back along the river. again we're lolling beind him, gymbolina closing off any attempt at speed. until suddenly there's a fallen tree and i'm off, a clear half mile into him in five minutes. finally my mud tyres are doing what they're supposed to. and even better dr k decides he's keeping me in sight and drops gymbolina also.

at the end the boys decide they want a tour around destination x. gymbolina says he'll come but we all know the subtext. destination x is a hell of mud, technical sections and bad, bad roots - all the stuff the boys have realised gymbolina can't do. the blood is in the water! and of course there's not a one of them who, seeing my ample winter layers, won't be fancying putting one over on me on my home forest.

in the mean time we will return to our lives as family guys, middle aged working types until next week's installment where, in our little world we are grimpeurs, racers, hard eyed bike men! you have to laugh...