A couple of months into training and a few group rides down, and the individual biking characteristics of the group are starting to emerge. So much so that I think we'll have all deserved a nickname by the time we set off in July.
Jonny? He's definitely the Maverick. A fearless speed exponent, even on country roads with big-ass tractors coming the other way around blind corners. If you're lucky, and the wind is blowing in the right direction, you'll catch a "Weeeeeee! 39 miles an hour!" as he disappears in a cloud of dust. Fearless, too, in tackling the mysteries of his bike, pulling it apart and putting it back together just to show it who's boss. Who's the daddy now, you two-wheeled numpty? Don't look so flash with your handlebars on upside down, do you?
So it should have come as no surprise that his latest two-fingers-up to staid, predictable behaviour led to our intrepid little group being a man down as we hit Richmond Park on a lovely Saturday morning (is this spring? Is it?) Have a read of the blog below for details.
But, you know, we need a Maverick, and what a great one we've got. Now who's going to be Goose? Iceman (bagsy)?
So a 10.30 meet at Brian's in Brixton for the shortish ride (albeit in a fug of bus exhaust fumes) out to Richmond Park. As well as Brian and myself, Dom made it along after his sabbatical in Berlin, eating copious amounts of sausages and drinking the bars dry by the sound of it, and Ken, biking maestro and bongo-basher supreme, led from the front.
It's one of the great joys of this whole thing that you rediscover lost pleasures; one of them, obviously enough, is going on a bike ride on a sunny day. Richmond Park is gorgeous; once in, we rode the circuit (approx 5 miles) three times, narrowly avoiding a few rearing deer on occasion and trying to gradually pick up the group pace as we went round. I became unnaturally excited (though I didn't let on) by Ken's talk of a 'peloton', that Tour de France-esque riding formation, where, heads down, a group of cyclists ride wheel to wheel and every so often, one pops out from the line to take the lead. We didn't quite make it this time, but if we don't do the whole LEJoG route like that, then I think I shall cry. One tough, thigh-burning hill - but otherwise generally pleasant terrain.
A lovely, well-earned pint back in Brixton (well, the Prince Regent in Herne Hill), and then (for me) the 5-mile ride back to Lewisham.
This morning? Only a very slight ache in the legs and probably (though I can't see it) a bit of a padded-short-chafing rash. Nice.
Next up, Brighton in two weeks. Mine's a 99 Flake.
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