No, this isn’t another alcohol-overdose-body-part-failure “thing”. I’ve just returned from a Prime Coaching session on the Hayes/Hillingdon/Whatever cycle circuit.

It took about an hour to cruise from pOxford St to the circuit. I was a bit late and missed all the instructions so I just latched onto the nearest group and rode around in a double-paceline for a few laps until the speed went up and our group shattered. Then it was just four of us doing some reasonable laps for most of the session. Then we tired and joined another bunch which I then surged away from in typical ‘twat can’t hold pace’ kinda style. I kept going, my ‘breakaway’ failing a lap later. I rejoined and in the end there was just two of us belting around passing everything in sight.

Turns out the other guy, ‘Stewart’, has a blue Ribble almost the same as mine even down to the blue bar tape and red tyres. He was a sprinter (running) and is now cycling with his partner Tracy. Lindell was there again although I didn’t see what she got up to. She did say she was going to be more ‘bold’ next week – lookout! Suzz (short for ‘Surendra’ I now know) was there, as was Brian and Ray (the punisher from the turbo session). The clubrooms were packed with other people I don’t know yet. I’d skipped the arm-warmers again and had to haul arse on the way home to stop from freezing! Fsck it was cold.. my toes took a good 15min to get feeling back! Reputation as under-dressing fool… re-established! 🙂

Some fat scrag was sitting on my fixie when I came out of the Co-op on Pitshanger! WTF?! Oi parents! How about you keep your filthy, stinking premature ejaculations the fsck off my streets and my bike! The little slags screamed off onto a bus before I could use their faces to clean my chain but.. next time..

While I’m amped up.. moto man this morning gets arsey when I pull up to his right at the lights..

“You think your faster than me do you?”

“Yes” I replied without even thinking about it.

*moto man shakes his head*

I’m not even clipped in and he still can’t get around the cars in front before I do. It takes him a kay before passing me and I still catch up with him again. He turns off.

Now, what’s the point of strapping an engine to a frame if some cocky Aussie fscker can waste you sans-engine? Sure, if it was the Polish nut job I raced up Castlebar Rd. he would’ve kicked my arse but that’s not the point.. the point is.. ah whatever.. brain too blurry to care.