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It was on the cool side of pleasant, but otherwise pretty much ideal riding conditions. Webcam philly sex com puddles aside, the roads weren't the skoggy nightmare I'd anticipated a few hours earlier, while wondering why all my spare 26" tubes had rendered themselves useless by growing Schrader valves. I proposed that we take a moment to consider those who had Sluts in hemingstone out at the last minute on the basis of weather We soon arrived in Moreton, where pints were consumed, and I made the decision to commit sock-crime.

Not to be out-done, Charlotte managed to borrow some fantastically stripy ones. Phil and rower40 appeared and declared that they were having fun, and there was some debate as to whether that was in the spirit of the thing. Estimating the rate of pint consumption, they decided to go and have some more fun, and that was pretty much the last we saw of them. The second half of the ride began with the twisty maze of Rodings, all alike. I can't remember exactly why, but we got separated somewhere before Dunmow, and I ended up on my own for a while. My lack of cycling mojo kicked in with a vengeance. The dodgy knee was Sluts in hemingstone grumbling though I'd take precautionary anti-inflammatoriesand while my legs were perfectly capable of turning the pedals, Sites de rencontres agricoles weren't entirely happy about it.

I slowed down and started to get a bit cold and sleepy, which didn't help matters. I was generally feeling pretty 'meh' about the whole thing - I was fairly sure I could make it to Dunwich, but wasn't convinced I'd enjoy any of it, and it was mainly the prospect of the effort involved in packing that kept me going. Into Dunmow and it suddenly got serious. My spidey sense was having the day off when a dark-blueish hatchback performed what appeared to be a perfectly good considerate overtake. Suddenly I felt something hit my leg just above the knee and ricochet off into the gutter while the car accelerated away. It wasn't really a big deal - just a piece of litter or something, not dense enough to leave a bruise.

I've had things thrown at me on night rides before, and I've always been zen about it, but this time I was on my own, feeling a bit crappy, and it actually hit the target. I wanted to stop and wait for the rest of Team Slow. But there was nowhere good to stop that wasn't crawling with drunks, and the last thing I wanted was to be a sitting duck for the zombies. Plan B was to turn fear into speed, and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. Which is how I found myself jettisoning the contents of my stomach into a hedge a couple of miles later. I was cold and shaking, and the only thing worse than riding was standing around that I was carrying full camping kit temporarily slipped my mindso I got back on the bike and rode.

I couldn't keep water down, and knew it was going to end badly if I couldn't get to some sort of civilisation before the bonk set in. Not really thinking about anything other than cold, I kept riding at what felt like a slow enough pace that the others would catch up with me eventually. The GPS log confirms that this was a failure of estimation, which is how I ended up spotting gerwinium's distinctively Altura-clad tall-guy-on-small-wheeled-bike outline in the distance. I gave it a bit of welly and caught up, persuaded them to stop and explained what had happened. Andrewc produced jelly babies, which had the right combination of suckability while not being proper food that helped to settle my stomach.

To be honest, all I really needed to do was stop riding for a bit, so with company and a bit of perspective I started to calm down, warm up while I was aware that everyone else was getting colder - so thanks again for waiting for me and generally feel a bit more human. The rest of Team Slow appeared in a cluster of LED goodness, and with a couple more jelly babies I reckoned I was good to don't-think-beyond-the-next-control it to the pub in Finchingfield. By the time we got there, I was able to nibble some proper food, and after spending some quality time with the hand-drier in the ladies', I reckoned I was pretty much back to normal.

And besides, I only had to make it to Sible Hedingham. We rolled in to the feed stop at about It was sparse, but by no means deserted. Hot drinks were bought, CrinklyCake and sporks were produced and we sat down to eat. Having established that the only people who'd brought spare spokes were of the nonc inclination, I sighed and suggested he bring the bike in and we could have a look at it anyway. The rear wheel was 3 spokes down and more than a bit slack, and the front was also lacking in the tension department. In the absence of anyone else having any good ideas, I attacked it with a spoke key.

Wheel-truing is practically a DunRun halfway stop tradition, afterall. I gave it as much tension as the un-lubricated nipples seemed to permit, and got it back to an acceptable state of horizontal trueness wrt the brake blocks, albeit with somewhat hilarious consequences vertically. We suggested that if he rode gently it would probably get him to Sudbury, which does at least have a railway station, but stressed that there was no rush as it's a pretty boring place to wait for the first train of the day. That pleasant mechanical distraction and some CrinklyCake appeared to restore my cycling mojo, or at least a working approximation thereof, in time for the third half of the ride.

We set off into the half-light at about I was impressed that blinky LED technology has got to the point where it's cheap enough to tie to random road signs. Team Slow's pace consolidated somewhat, and as it warmed up I was happy to continue at the speed of the slower riders. This members offers an escort service.

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