Sunday 23rd March was cold, wet and windy.
Jonnie and I set off on the Snitterfield 36 at about 8:30 in the morning. We knew we were in for a very strange day when Jonnie inexplicably cannondaled* into a hedge after just a mile and a half! Before 9am we were soaked through, all clothing water-logged and heavy. It was then, with almost 30 hilly miles still ahead of us, that we decided that this was the kind of training that could turn us into hardmen! The kind of riders you see in the professional peloton riding solo up Category 1 climbs in the snow whilst wearing shorts.
When the rain did eventually stop, the cold wind made sure our wet clothes drained the heat out of us and we quickly lost any feeling in our hands and feet. By the time we'd left the Snitterfield war memorial, the halfway point, I was shivering and I knew Jonnie was suffering too.
Luckily, I had a change of gloves in my back pocket. Jonnie, without such luxury, opted to ride bare-handed rather than endure his soaking-wet gloves any longer. His hands were so cold that he was making involuntary noises because of the pain! Realising the extent of his discomfort, I offered to call up my other half and order a broomwagon. He simply laughed in my face and kept pedalling...
We eventually got back in a painful 13.5mph. I stopped off briefly at Jonnie's for the best cup of tea ever and then cycled home ready to go and help with my Dad's allotment. I slept well that night!
*cannondale [verb] to slide into a nearby object or floor, usually while riding a bicycle. [First witnessed at Waseley Hills café during a NWAlps ride. A young rider with all the gear tripped over fresh air whilst setting off on his Cannondale road bike.]
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