We’re off to Wales.
We’d talked about it. We’d talked all around it. Talk is cheap. Just like the cottage that we’re renting.
It was settled over a Sunday roast at Pete’s place. We decided not to dwell too much on it because the more we thought on, the more we’d come to realise that hurling ourselves down the Welsh mountainsides on a bike is not really a sane activity for a cold, wet winter weekend.
I know it’s going to hurt. It did the last time I did it a few years ago now, and that was when I was really fit. Fortunately, I don’t smoke and lead an active lifestyle so it should be a tolerable pain. After covering thirty-two miles this Sunday and being able to get up and walk with nothing than a slight case of jelly-legs, I’ll do fine. I hope the others can say the same.