Now I'm not a competitive person and there's a little more practice required before I reach race standard, but all the same, it made me feel a little miffed. The overtaking manoeuvre took place at the very moment I had been congratulating myself at being able to maintain a decent pace. I was cruising, basically, and feeling all the better for it.
The day was perfect, the only wind was that which I created myself from cutting through the gentle breeze. I had the whole ride ahead of me, taking in the cosy towns and villages of South Essex as they awoke from their slumber. A few early risers were already up cleaning cars and fry-ups could be detected wafting from a couple of kitchens.
Then I'm under attack. I glance to my right as a blur in black spandex kicks down a gear and turbo pedals ahead, his celeste Bianchi leaving me in his wake.
I wasn't prepared. I hadn't seen another rider since that paperboy on the London Road. I could have given him a run for his money if I'd known he was coming.
But try as I might I could not catch up. Worse still, he was gaining distance - he must have been doing at least 5mph more than me. I had been done, good and proper, and as the incline approached and he disappeared around the corner I was forced to admit defeat.
Still, there's one consolation - if he had that much energy first thing on a Saturday morning, his Friday night couldn't have been too good.
Rapha clobber:
Short sleeve jersey
Arm warmers
Softshell gloved
Fixed shorts
Winter hat
Merino socks
Time: 1 hr 29 mns
Distance: 24.72 miles
Average: 16.6mph
Max: 29.7 mph
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