Queen of the Mountains

I love cycling – it’s no secret to readers of this blog that I am a very late convert.  I haven’t been out for ages (pause for weather related whinge), but this afternoon, 3/4 of the Revd Claire family cycled around 14 flat miles to Eling (that’s pronounced Ee-ling, not Ell-ing, for those who might need to know).   

It was actually a jaunt to remind DD (the smallest 1/4 of the Rev’d C family) of how to ride a bike before she goes off with a local youth group for the day, having avoided her bicycle for a good 18 months.  She did really well, and OH was concentrating on nursing her along.   This meant I got the best of all worlds.  I got a bit of time with family, but also time alone – because I am quicker than DD I got time cycling alone, ahead. 

I’ve been watching the Tour de France again this year, awestruck at how these blokes achieve speeds I can only dream of doing downhill with a following wind, uphill at altitude, day after day.  I’ll never be fit enough even to cycle a stage in a single day.  But today, as I rode ahead, aired, and caught up, I got to be a sprint champion.  I won the Queen of the Mountains stage (there’s a couple of bridges!), I rode a section aggressively, I won stages, and I go the ultimate accolade.  Four miles from home, I was awarded the door key.  No yellow jersey has ever meant so much!  My OH can ride further, faster, steeper, longer, more aggressively than me.  But not when he has to manage DD.  So, having not even broken sweat for the first eleven miles, I set my face to home and cycled my little heart out.  I could win the Tour de Test Valley!   


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