Stop Press! Reigate Bike Ride is back on!!!

A shot from the 2012 Black Horse Ride

In all honesty I can't remember when we last rode the Black Horse Ride, but we certainly didn't ride it last year because it wasn't happening. But now it's back, I've noticed, having just read an email from the organiser. To be honest, I didn't look at it too closely, but I have seen that there's a 136km option on the table. We ought to be doing it, is the message of this post, which, incidentally, is being written from sunny Amsterdam – yes, it's sunny here too – where it's just gone 1850hrs and I really ought to be considering dinner.

In fact, going back to the Black Horse Ride, when I said I hadn't looked too closely at the email, what I meant was, I haven't really given any consideration to whether it's still called the Black Horse Ride, it might not be; there was a PDF attached to the email, which I'll go back and read in more depth in a second, but the long and the short of it is this: we must put in a NoVisibleLycra team...and dare we consider the 136km option (or was I not looking too closely at the email – can they really mean 136km? That's virtually 85 miles!!!!).

Right, I've re-checked my email and there's no mention of the pub at all. In fact, the ride is called the Reigate Rouleur (which sounds a bit Lycra Monkey to me) but there are four rides ranging from 50km to 136km through the Surrey and Kent countryside and there will be a fully marked course, feed stations and support vehicles. I'll keep you updated, but I'd imagine Andy will be the main information source on this one.

Sport talk – 'the language of those with nothing to say.' Discuss.

Now, that might sound a little bit harsh and, if the truth be known, it probably is, but being one of those people who, for whatever reason – I can't think of anything specific – doesn't particularly like 'sport' (and I've put the word in inverted commas because I mean all sport) it's a subject worthy of discussion.

Gooners – another name for Arsenal supporters

Fortunately, I'm not alone. Phil appears to feel the same way, although he started the conversation going by asking me if I'd been watching the golf. In all honesty, no, I hadn't been watching it because if there's one thing in this world I can't stand (there's more than one thing) it's watching sport. I'm simply not interested. Although, having said that, I'd picked up snippets of information about the golf (currently playing out in the USA at Augusta, but don't ask me the name of the tournament, I don't know, although it might be called The Masters) and I'd picked up that the guy in front was called Jordan Speith and the current runner up somebody called Justin, possibly Justin Rose. So I made the big mistake that all sports-hating people make when confronted with the question 'did you watch the [enter name of sport]' and brought into play the names of Jordan and Justin. Immediately I sounded as if I knew what I was talking about, part of the clan no less! Had it not been Phil who had asked the question I might have been forced to brazen it out by saying something phoney, like, "Yeah, I reckon Speith will go the whole way, just look at the way he's playing, he's at the top of his game." Pure, utter bullshit, but when you're 'talking sport', especially if you're a bloke (and let's face it, 'blokes' are supposed to talk about sport. We're supposed to be sick with sport us blokes) a sentence like that will get you out of jail free, but the problem arises if the person who asked the original question, "Did you watch the...?" comes back with something that requires a little bit more knowledge. In which case you can't beat a bit of history. Delve deep, mind, as, you're now in the thick of it and the only other alternative is to say something like, "Oh, bollocks! Listen, I know fuck all about golf, I can't stand it, don't try and hold a conversation with me about golf!" So, go for the historical approach, "For me, Jacklin's the best golfer I've had the pleasure of watching. Remember that hole-in-one?" The truth is, I do remember the hole-in-one, but at what tournament, what year, I couldn't begin to tell you.

Fortunately, I didn't have to go through any of this because Phil admitted that while he had been watching a bit of the golf at Augusta, he too wasn't really a sportaholic, much to my relief. But what is it about sport lovers? Oddly, I've never heard a woman engage another woman with the phrase, "Did you catch any of the [add sport of your choice] last night?" Perhaps it's because women are quite comfortable in their own skin and don't necessarily feel the need to enter into a challenging conversation of any kind, unlike 'blokes'. Sport, Phil said, was the language of those with nothing to say, and I know just what he means. Men feel they have to engage their fellow man in boring, shallow 'did you catch the rugby last night?" conversations just for the sake, perhaps, of not having to endure an awkward silence. Bring on the awkward silence, that's what I say. Bring it on! For a lot of men their entire conversational repertoire is based on bullshit-based sports chat and some men seem to know a lot of it: they know all about every team in the Premiership, the personalities, the goals, the name of the ground, "Good result at Loftus Road, the Gooners will be celebrating tonight." What? Loftus Road? The Gooners? Isn't that something to do with Harry Secombe, Spike Milligan and Peter Sellers? Or was that The Goons? The Gooners? If somebody said that to me in a lift I'd think they were crazy. "Sorry, where's Loftus Road? Who are the Gooners? Are you mad? Somebody call the police!" And the most refreshing response would be, "No, not mad, just a little sad. In all honesty, I'd rather give you the impression that I 'know my sport' rather than just bid you good morning and comment on the weather." How refreshing, but no, it would never happen. And my expected response to the Loftus road comment is supposed to be, "Yeah! Amazing result." In fact, knowing nothing about football and having no desire to know anything about it, that would be a good retort as I would know now that the Gooners (who are they?) are celebrating so they can't have lost and I'm giving my adversary the impression that I might be a Gooner myself. Result! He might then provide the score, "Yeah, 4-1, brilliant." To which all I need to say is, "Yeah, nice one!" and then move on to another subject – or hope and pray that whoever started the conversation has reached his floor and exits the lift.

And the thing that's really annoying is that people who are 'sick with sport' – remember Radio 1's Andy Peebles? – seem to be ruling the roost... and the airwaves! They've gone and given Clare fucking Balding her own sports-related chat show! As if Sue Barker's A Question of Sport isn't enough!

And then, of course, there's cycling. The fact that I ride a bike leads loads of people to think that I'm a cyclist! I must be up there with Bradley Wiggins, they think, and I must, of course, don Lycra and those awful luminous orange shoes and ride a sleek racing bike with dropped bars and I must take a keen interest in the Tour de France and be saddened by the antics of Lance Armstrong. Look, get it straight: I never watch the Tour de France or any other cycling event, I have no sporting aspirations where cycling is concerned OTHER than reaching my destination with enough time to spare to enjoy a slice of cake or a biscuit and definitely a cup of tea. I care nothing for 'precious grams' either – I just like riding my bike in the fresh air and sitting with Phil and Andy and whoever else might tag along and talking rubbish for half an hour. Period! Nothing more! Hopefully it keeps me fitter than I would otherwise be if I didn't ride out every weekend.

I could go on and on about this subject, but I won't. Instead, I'll refer you to something I prepared earlier, an article all about 'the beautiful game' – now there's a contradiction in terms. Anyway, check out this link, hell, just click here for the article in question.

To the Tatsfield Churchyard – for a healthy breakfast!
This weekend involved just one ride. Saturday, Andy planned to ride to Brighton but instead rode to a pub on the outskirts of town and then cycled back (53 miles in total). I should have gone out alone, but I dithered, as I'm prone to do when I have no motivation to go out. The annoying thing is that had I gone out at 0700hrs and riden to Botley Hill I would have been home before it started to rain. But no, I didn't go out and I resigned myself to getting no exercise until Sunday when Phil joined me and we rode to Warlingham Green to meet Andy.

Forest fruits, natural yoghurt and granola...lovely!

Phil normally brings sausage sandwiches with him, which are always much appreciated, and if it's not sausage sandwiches it might be a Bakewell tart or a Christmas cake, but today he bucked the trend completely and brought something healthy, but kept us in suspense until we reached our destination, the Tatsfield Churchyard. The surprise? Well, not sausage sandwiches and nothing remotely similar. Phil brought out four dishes followed by natural yoghurt, forest fruits and granola... and it was fantastic! Another 'respective is due' for Phil!

The weather was fantastic, as was yesterday's. Saturday saw just one burst of rain around 0915hrs but then there was sunshine. This morning was very pleasant too and as the day wore on the sun shone brightly even if there was a cool, occasionally blustery breeze. The weather people are saying our weather is going to rival Spain.

The churchyard is on a hill and is quite high up so there was the odd chilly moment this morning but, by and large, it was pleasant and so was the ride and it was all made a lot better by Phil's breakfast, Andy's Belvita biscuits and, of course, my flask of hot water and accompanying Twinings teabags.

A good ride was had by all and we're all together again next Saturday, weather permitting.

L to R: Matt, Phil and Andy at the churchyard

Delays mean another trip to Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Warlingham Green, Monday 6th April 2015, 0730 hrs.

Andy was slightly delayed but it was enough for us to rethink our planned ride to Westerham. The weather was fantastic: blue skies and cottonwool clouds and the temperature much warmer than the rest of the Easter weekend. We decided to head for the bus stop again, although we toyed with the churchyard and the village, and when we got there we did what we always do: drink tea and munch BelVita biscuits.

Lycra monkeys. Give them a bit of hot weather and out they come; you see hardly any during the colder months of the year and then suddenly there they are in their Lycra shorts and sponsored tops, although they're not even sponsored, they're just wearing tops covered in logos. And what's with the new fashion of brightly-coloured footwear? Luminous footwear!

As we sat at the bus stop, watching a passing Lycra monkey who was wearing bright red above-the-knee shorts we wondered what must be going through his mind as he pulls on his gear in the morning. Can he really think he looks good? And as for those idiots in the brightly-coloured footwear, what must they be thinking? Clearly, they must all think they look really good otherwise they wouldn't wear such awful clothing. Instead, they'd look like us in our Tesco ASBO specials (well, MY Tesco ASBO specials). Perhaps all that 'precious grams' stuff is because they know that if they put on a bit of weight they wouldn't look so good in their Lycra garments?

Later in the day I drove to Westerham and the weather was still wonderful. There was bright sunshine and plenty of people wandering about, enjoying the weather and the attractions on offer in this Kent market town.

Next Saturday Andy's riding to Brighton, leaving me to motivate myself to get out and ride the bike. I'll probably ride to the bus stop again, unless Phil's up for a longer ride. Andy should be back on Sunday so we might finally reach Westerham. I'm not even sure if we've been to Westerham in 2015 yet. Hold on a second while I check the archive...and the answer is no, we haven't riden to Westerham this year. In fact, the last time we were there was Sunday 30 November 2014.

Time for tea at the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Another rear wheel puncture means we ride to the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Sunday 5th April 2015: Having fixed my first puncture in a long time on Good Friday afternoon, resulting in the abandonment of our first ride of the Easter break, I was looking forward to Sunday morning's cycling.

500 yards from Warlingham Green

We'd enjoyed a brief run to Botley Hill on Saturday morning and now it was looking as if the weather was improving – and the temperature warming up. A jaunt to Westerham was on the cards, but it was not to be; about 500 yards from Warlingham Green I detected the familiar wobble of a puncture. As always, at first I didn't believe it. Surely not again! But soon the tyre had deflated and I was forced to walk to the green, past the retirement homes, with that familiar squeak of rubber on tarmac to accompany me. Having arrived at the green I up-ended the bike, whipped off the rear wheel and set to work on fixing the puncture while chatting to Andy about this and that.

The delay meant we had to abandon our trip to Westerham and instead head for the familiar Tatsfield Bus Stop. The weather had improved considerably. Unlike Saturday there were no puddles on the road, the temperature was warmer and it wasn't so grey and overcast. The improved weather brought out the Lycra monkeys.

Andy and I had a few interesting things to discuss, including (briefly) a little chat about Top Gear and Clarkson, but having bored you already with this, I won't say anymore. We munched our Belvita biscuits, we sipped tea and probably chatted for longer than normal before deciding to head for home. The weather was getting warmer but it was still a little chilly as we raced back along the B269 towards Warlingham Green where we parted company, vowing to ride out again tomorrow.

Fixing the puncture on Warlingham Green

Fast way to Botley Hill for tea and biscuits...

Saturday 4th April 2015: It must have rained overnight as there were huge puddles everywhere, especially along the B269 and this can be dangerous if you're riding a bike as the urge is to drift into the middle of the road to avoid them (especially if your bike doesn't have mudguards!). The sky was dark and overcast and, let's face it, it might have rained at any time, but it didn't, which was fortunate, as today we were riding to Botley Hill where there is little, in fact, no cover whatsoever.

Andy and I met on Warlingham Green and headed off towards our destination in a good mood. I hadn't been on the bike for a long time, or at least it felt that way. The last time I rode out was to the churchyard prior to my trip to Rio, which has been well-documented on this blog (just scroll back a few posts or check out individual postings on the side panel to the right of this text).

The bikes at Botley Hill on Saturday 4th April 2015

When we reached Botley Hill we parked the bikes and got out the tea and biscuits, which we scoffed while discussing a variety of topics, including, of course, Clarkson's recent sacking, although not for long. The main topic of conversation was the new café/bicycle shop that recently opened in Westerham. Andy brought along an advertisement that had appeared in his local rag, which shows that the shop has some kind of link to a fitness company. We talked about the 'boutique' look of the place, which we both disagreed with (the Tudor Rose Tearoom is more in keeping with what a cyclist wants from a caff in our opinion) and the fact that the ad has a load of people standing in front of the café/bike shop in some kind of cycling uniform – possibly a  Lycra uniform – was also a little off-putting as we also abhor Lycra monkeys with a vengeance. What we also found slightly irksome about the ad was the phrase that went something like 'you don't have to wear Lycra' to visit the caff, which implied, of course, that the Lycra Monkey was their primary focus but, alright, if you don't wear it you can still come in. It's a bit like saying, "You don't have to wear Lycra, but it helps.'

Andy said that the worst thing about the new caff would have to be the sound of Lycra Monkeys in those awful cycling shoes they wear, clickety clicking across the wood or laminated flooring of the establishment. "Imagine. You're sitting there and suddenly the door opens – dinga ling! – and then the next thing you hear is 'click, click, click, click, click' as the Lycra Monkey makes his way into the shop," said Andy. I nodded knowingly as we continued to enjoy our tea and Belvita biscuits (which somehow taste different when you're standing up – there's no bench at Botley Hill).

And then, of course, we discussed the Lycra Monkey and asked our usual question: why? Why get up in the morning and put on body-hugging, brightly-coloured Lycra leggings and a top covered in brand names? Why? You're not being sponsored. And why do they wear those luminous cycling shoes?

Something has happened to the Botley Hill Farmhouse but we're not exactly sure what. It's still there, but they've tidied up around the pub itself and Andy says the marquee, which was used to host live bands, has gone and is going to be replaced with a more permanent structure. Good news, I said, because if there's new management involved (I'm not saying there is, but IF there is) then they don't want to get rid of the live bands as I'd imagine they are the chief revenue source for the pub.

The ride back was cold and, as usual, there was a headwind. I was glad to be out on the bike again. Not riding for a couple of weeks or more was noticeable. I found it quite a hard slog cycling up Church Way this morning, which shows how easy it is to get out of condition. Tomorrow we're planning to ride to Westerham as the weather is supposed to improve for Sunday and Bank Holiday Monday. Here's hoping!

Early morning puncture leads to a Good Friday abort text

I haven't been cycling for ages... or so it seems. The last time I went out was before I travelled to Rio. Andy and I went to the Tatsfield Churchyard and chatted, if I recall correctly, about the whole Jeremy Clarkson fiasco. Well, was it really a fiasco? Now that it's been announced that he won't be having his contract renewed, I can understand why he's no longer the lead presenter of Top Gear. In essence, you can't hit somebody at work at get away with it, so what kind of message would it send out if Clarkson was allowed to stay in his job, especially after the whole Savile affair? But Clarkson's departure is still bad news for those of us who enjoyed watching Top Gear on a Sunday evening. I mean, now that it's gone, all that's left is Poldark and while I don't mind the Cornish drama, I'd much prefer to watch it AFTER my dose of Top Gear, in the same way that my dad used to have a spoonful of sugar to lighten the load of his Seven Seas cod liver oil. I find myself watching old episodes of Top Gear on BBC 3 or on Dave and, in all honesty, it's all very sad that an era has come to an end. But enough already!

So, it's Good Friday and my plan was to head out, possibly to Westerham, with Andy. I was up early, I'd eaten a bowl of All Bran and a hard-boiled egg and then, after sorting out the tea, headed for the garage where I found a flat rear tyre. I was already running 10 minutes late and had texted Andy that I was on my way, which, technically, was true, but the sight of the flat rear tyre deflated my ambitions and for a short while I just stood there, staring at the bike and wondering what to do. Having not been on the bike for a couple of weeks – last weekend was a wash-out (late night stopped the Saturday ride and rain meant there was no ride on Sunday) – I really wanted to go out and I figured that it might simply be a flat tyre after a fortnight of the bike languishing in the garage. I found the pump, pumped up the tyre and then wheeled the bike out of the garage, but then I heard a distinct hissing. This was no slow puncture. So I wheeled the bike back into the garage, turned it upside down and then looked at my watch. It was getting late so I sent Andy an abort text. Oddly, at the time of writing, I've heard nothing back so I don't know whether he went out alone or not. He normally does unless it's been raining so I'm hoping to hear back from him as I don't think he'll be going tomorrow.

My plan is to fix the puncture and get out there Saturday, Sunday and Monday and I'm hoping to throw in a trip to Westerham too. Right now there's nowt much to do (apart from a little bit of work). Outside the weather is overcast. It's not raining, but it's dull, athough it's not cold so a ride today would have been really good, but it was not to be, sadly.

Gambling on the General Election
That's about it for now. Not much else is happening. In the news we've had a televised political debate with the three main parties – Labour, Lib-Dem and Conservatives – plus the likes of UKIP, the Greens, the SNP and Plaid Cymru – and I'm none the wiser as to who to vote for in the imminent General Election. Having said that, I might be in the USA on the day of voting so I might not vote at all, which, in all honesty, was how I was feeling anyway. I certainly wouldn't be voting for Cameron (Conservative) as he represents the party of the privileged. As for Labour, well, perhaps if David Milliband was in charge and as for the rest of them, no chance, so there you have it. If I'm around I'll probably vote for Milliband, just purely for the hell of it, otherwise I'll be wasting my vote, although I have considered having a bit of fun with it and indulging in a bit of kamikazee voting: taking out the Conservatives who I couldn't vote for out of principle, there will be six parties left, one for every number on the dice. Now that would add a little bit of excitement to the proceedings, wouldn't it! I'll let you know what I decide to do. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think I'll actually do that unless I'm out of the country, in which case I won't even vote.

And the winner is...?
One roll, no best of three, I'd alloted one number to each party. 1. Ukip. 2. Labour. 3. Liberal Democrats. 4. The Green Party. 5. The Scottish Nationalist Party. 6. Plaid Cymru.

I found a dice, rolled it and...well, it's a secret ballot so why should I tell you, but I'm going to stick with the number rolled, which kind of goes against my gut feeling, but what the hell!

Should have gone out on Saturday...

Andy's ride on Saturday

There's no excuse, Saturday was the best day in terms of the weather and despite the fact that the weathermen said it would start raining by lunchtime, it didn't. Sadly I didn't go out on Saturday morning – although Andy did (see route map of ride). It was touch and go as to whether Sunday would work, but, having risen an hour earlier than usual (the clocks went forward last night so it was really 0500hrs when I got up) it looked alright outside. A bit dark and grey, perhaps, but certainly fine for cycling. So, having made the tea and watched a bit of BBC Breakfast (Saracens beat Harlequins 42-14 in the rugby and Wales did well in the footy thanks to Gareth Bale – not that I'm a fan of either sport) I headed outside to notice that it had started raining. Judging by the greyness I knew it wasn't going let up so I texted Andy and said I was going to see how things were in 15 minutes. The truth was it got a little more persistent, although, having said that, it's now 0745hrs and...hold on while I take a look... it's still raining, albeit not heavily. I think we'd have got a soaking, put it that way, even if we'd rode to Warlingham Green and back.

So here I am, sitting in the conservatory and there's been no cycling all weekend. Not good. We were going to go to Westerham today but it'll have to wait until next week. Hopefully, bearing in mind that the clocks have gone forward and the daffodils are in bloom, the weather should improve. Next weekend is Easter and that means we can cycle more than just our usual two rides (there's Good Friday and Easter Monday added on too).

Anyway, until then, enjoy your week.

An old shot of our bikes somewhere out there...

Café & Cycle Store in Westerham

Our dreams in tatters! A bike shop and caff!

On a chance drive to Westerham yesterday for a teacake and a pot of ginger tea – well, I didn't set out solely to drink ginger tea and eat a teacake – I stumbled across this rather interesting shop. Interesting in the sense that it reminds me of a conversation between Andy and myself while sitting on the green sipping tea and munching our traditional cereal bar. In essence, when the Kent market town's Barclay's decided to shut up shop there was a 'to let' sign over the door. As we sat there, Andy and I dreamed up an idea for a bicycle shop combined with a café – just what the doctor ordered, we thought. What dyed-in-the-wool cyclist could resist a decent caff AND bike shop combined? A place where they could enjoy tea and cake AND get their bike fixed? We thought about it often but didn't really go any further than that. But now, somebody has grabbed the bike by the horns and opened a combined café and bike shop and here it is (see pic).

Seeing it I had to laugh. Somebody had stolen our dream! I went inside and, if I'm honest, it was a little too Lycra monkey for me, a little too 'boutiquey' and mildly minimalist and the caff was certainly no way near as 'cosy' as the Tudor Rose across the green, but hats off to those who opened it and good luck.

Click here for more in-depth review.

Diarr-Rio! When it all went wrong...

Well, not drastically wrong. I'm now back in the UK after a relaxing flight home, but the bit before was a little trying to say the least and very disappointing as I'd rather hoped that Thursday (my last full day in Rio) would be spent sightseeing as opposed to one site (a building site across the road – see view from my hotel room shot in earlier post). You see, all was well with the world. I went down for dinner around 8pm on Wednesday night having completed a little bit of work in my hotel room. There was a live band playing in the Atlantico restaurant as I took my seat, ordered a glass of Malbec, asparagus soup and sea bass followed by a fresh fruit salad. The view of Copacabana Bay at night was spread before me and I was glad that all the hard work was over and a day of being a tourist lay ahead of me.

The 'Sofatel' – much needed sofa for weary old me

The food seemed fine enough and by 9pm I was back in my room and ready for bed. But around midnight things changed. I awoke with a stomach ache and lo and behold I had the shits! Just what the doctor ordered. That toilet observation window (see pic in previous post) would have been most unwelcomed had my wife been sharing the room with me – why was it there, I often wondered, who wants a window on people taking a dump? Fortunately I was alone so in many ways the TV was on but nobody was watching. In short a broken night led to chronic weariness the following day. I lolled about and slept until around 11.30am when I got my act together enough to extend my check-out by a couple of hours and then went back to my room to pack: tiresome at the best of times, much worse when under the weather.

After checking out and ordering a cab to the airport for later – I was flying out of Rio at 1055pm – there was nothing left to do other than to find somewhere to crash and this meant one of the sunloungers by the pool, the business centre and then some easy chairs adjacent to the first floor Atlantico restaurant, which might have been the cause of the problem (there was no way of really knowing). While I never drank tap water I did clean my teeth with it and I used the water from the mains to wash and shower, it could have been that although I was hardly going to wash simply by tipping loads of small bottles of mineral water over my head; or it could have the fresh fruit, which I'm guessing was rinsed in water. Who knows? The long and the short of it was that I was weary I couldn't really risk finding myself at the top of Corcovado in need of a toilet, so first I sat in the business centre reading Ayn Rand, then I moved to the poolside where I lay for a couple of hours until around 5pm when I found the wonderful sofa covered in cushions (see pic above). I set the alarm on my iphone for 7pm, and then having fallen asleep, I awoke and just lie there for 10 minutes or so until the time was right to find my car to the airport. I was feeling alright, but I was weak and tired and things weren't going to get any better.

In the cab, I gazed out of the window onto the busy streets of Rio. It was busy, there was a lot of traffic but eventually I reached the airport, bade farewell to my driver and set about the boring and tedious process of going through security. I don't know about you, but whenever I hear the name Richard Reeve I feel like reaching for my revolver. Once through I discovered that Rio airport was a pretty sparse place: a couple of awful food outlets and and duty free shop and that was it and the last thing I wanted to do was risk another bout of stomach problems so, having not eaten all day, I continued to fast and eventually it was time to board the plane. Unlike the journey out when I was sitting in seat 37b (the exit door row so plenty of leg room) I was now in seat C30, an aisle seat, so I had plenty of room (for just one of my legs, the right one). Fortunately seat 29 C in front of me was unoccupied and offered plenty of leg room as there was no seat 28C (just 28A and 28B). I asked the steward if I could change seats and he said I could. Result!

This stark shot of Rio airport sums up how I felt...

For the next nine hours I slept – or rather dozed – and didn't give a damn about the odd bit of turbulence, which the pilot later apologised for, stating that it might have helped passengers who were trying to sleep. He was right in a way, the 'gentle rocking' as he described it over the intercom prior to landing, did help and with only 1hr, 59 minutes left of the flight I found myself awake. I listened to Brian Eno and Karl Hyde's album High Life but was bored by the start of track two and switched to Vivaldi's Four Seasons and Edward Elgar's Land of Hope and Glory (highly appropriate as we approached the UK) before deciding to watch Top Gear, a kind of 'best of' entitled something like Ambitious but Rubbish, it was brilliant, and soon we landed at Terminal Five Heathrow where a car was waiting to take me home. When I got there, nobody was in and I had to wait around 10 minutes before I could get in and now, here I am.

No cycling today, I didn't think it wise, but I'll be back on the bike tomorrow morning without fail especially if the weather is as good as it was this morning, although it's clouded over now and is bloody cold...compared with the weather in Rio! Remember, it was 33 degrees, not the pathetic 8 degrees it is here in London.

A few more images from my brief time in Rio de Janeiro

Yours truly on Copacabana Beach, Monday 16 March 2015

Room 656, Sofitel Copacabana Beach – note toilet observation window

This view from room 656 of the Sofitel Copacabana