At last, a beautiful Sunday morning, all 3 of us out and about, and a very nice ride to be had. Apart from the odd clanking noise coming from my bottom bracket (which Bicycle Repairman has promised he will look at) there was nothing to spoil the enjoyment.
No records broken, we moved along at a reasonable pace, and threw ourselves up and down the requisite number of hills to make it all worthwhile.
Only one doubt remains. When did we become a bunch of nattering old women? While I have no problems with rest stops, or planning what we are doing for the week, and certainly not with the pleasant cup of tea at the top of Box Hill, it occurred to me just how much gassing we did on Sunday. It was almost as if our cycling helmets had been altered into proxy head scarves. The conversation did stop short of “did you see what that women at number 14 was wearing! Shocking wasn’t it, and her husband is away working on an oil rig” but only just.
The remedy is at hand however. Frequenting a public house, where conversations covering all subjects can be had, and the level of bullcrap involved can increase as the amount of alcohol consumed rises.