 | |  | | | | | | | | | 'Last night the donut saved my life...'
On Sunday, Steve picked me up at 8.30am and we were off to Glentress for a day's riding.
Unfortunately, the early start had meant that I'd decided not to bother making a sandwich or buying any goodies for the day. 'I'll get something on the way', I thought.
But I didn't.
Thinking that the porridge I'd had for breakfast and the soup I'd had at The Hub would do me fine for the day, we set off.
The day turned into a belter - good weather and good riding. The bike was feeling good and the legs were feeling great as I burned off rider after rider on the climbs. Yes indeed; I was feeling rather full of myself.
By about 3.30pm though, the logic behind not bringing a jam butty for a quick snack was beginning to show flaws. We'd made it to the top of the jumpy, bermy section (sorry - can't remember its name) and decided to have a race down. I took the Red route and Steve took the Blue, with Steve taking the win. This upset me, but I was way more upset about the fact that I was now running completely on vapours. You know the feeling - a bit dizzy, tired, weak etc. That was me.
As we pushed back to the top of the jumpy bit, I backed out of a re-match and suggested that we just both ride the Red route together, 'cos I'd transformed from 'Hard-Man Jones' to, well, a big jessie. I'd been thinking about food for about an hour by this stage and as we were pushing up, it hit me - I wanted a donut!
It wouldn't have filled me up, but we were on our way down anyway and I just needed that little boost to tide me over and a jammy donut would hit the spot like nothing else. Alas, however, all I had were daydreams and a growling belly.
The second run down was actually better than the first - I was much more relaxed, pumped through the berms much better and hit the jumps faster.
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