Day 5

It's two weeks since I have touched my bike or done anything that doesn't involve sitting in my room and venturing down to the kitchen every half hour. So I decided to head off on my own this morning (as there was no way I was going to go out with the 7am troops on a Sunday). Left just after 10am, without phone or keys, intending to enjoy the warm air and country solitude, and do the Radlett route I had practiced with my father just a couple of Sundays ago.

Encountered two members of the same family who we crossed paths with on that ride (I recognised the yellow bike) and, once again, gave myself a pat on the back when I whizzed past them. On the approach to St Albans, however, I got a bit lost and it didn't help that I had chosen to wear my fashionable, sporty sunglasses rather than the lensed ones I can actually see out of. Unable to read the road signs at the roundabout, I ended up on what appeared to be a mini motorway, heading in the opposite direction of anywhere that looked familiar. A few close calls with speeding cars, and diversions down a random selection of country lanes later, and I saw a sign for Shenley. Finally, I thought, a name I know.

But by the time I started on the long road home, I was somewhat delusional from the lack of snacks (essential) and disheartened at the prospect of no snacks or communication with anyone for the forseeable future. (At this point, I was debating calling home and getting someone to pick me up). Riding in a straight line was becoming quite the challenge and I ocassionally veered into the path of oncoming traffic. Was I being punished by supernatural forces for gloating about beating those other cyclists?

Eventually found my way back to Radlett and headed home on what I thought was the direct route which ended up being full of slow inclines. I got off to stretch midway and nearly collapsed in a heap on top of my jelly legs, which seemed unable to function in their usual role. My backside felt like it had been given a strong right hook in each cheek.

Made it home proud and exhausted. Riding time: two and a half hours; recovery time: an afternoon in front of the telly, and indulging my every sweet tooth for the following week.