Funny that.

Remember Winter? Cold, wet, dark and miserable?. The four seasonal horsemen of the apocalypse ride out from November through March before hibernating for the summer. Which is why we ride when it’s warm. dry, sunny and lovely. Yes?

No. I reckon those four cloak-billowing mounted dementers have their eye on summer. And like the fifth Beatle, someone forgot to tell “Windy” he’s not welcome. And not just because of the smell*

In about two weeks, I’ll be hauling my non-spent-much-time-on-a-saddle arse around and over this. Not the proper Man’s event to be fair, but still 120ks of hills, more hills, occasional cake, cocks on road bikes, rain and – of course, wind.

Headwind, chest-wind, toe-wind, all over wind experience. The bastard mix of a sprinkler powered by a Saturn-V rocket. For approximately ever. But this wind is not my excuse for doing absolutely no training whatsoever. My other excuse is generally I was too busy riding mountain bikes to waste time on tarmac, but no that’s not right either.

All winter I rode. Looked out of the window in the dark and calculated – from the sound of wet trees being smashed against car roofs – exactly what riding apparel would be appropriate for two hours battling my least favourite season. Then, ignoring all that, just wore everything I owned. Including a lifejacket.

But I still went. Most of the time it was fine, occasionally it was shit, but off-season fitness has a smug rating that’ll carry you past those who’ve given up, got fat, pre-moaned how hard it’ll be come BST. You plan for the worst and hope for the best. It’s an excellent strategy and has served me well.

Until April when all was lovely, dry and even sometimes light in the evening. Remember April? Part of a new summer that starts end of March, goes for six weeks before plunging into Autumn. You want proof? CLiC24, 2am, 2 degrees, 40 knot wind, May 16. It’s enough to encourage emigration. Not to France tho, it’s not that bad. Yet.

And since then, troughs of Atlantic lows have swept our unprotected Island with some rain, much wind and and a daily precipitation of can’t be arsed. “Bit Windy? Nah, don’t think I’ll bother” “Chance of Rain? Fuck that, it’s summer”, “Trip away? In June? Are you mad? Is drowning something you’re keen to experience?”

Stupid really. I’ve missed too many midweek rides with great excuses wrapped up in better lies. I don’t think it’s the dodgy elbow, it certainly isn’t a lack of fabulous trails to ride, nor is it my standard “can I be arsed lament” that gets blown away every time I actually can.

It’s none of those things. It isn’t even about bikes. Needs working out tho until which riding seems a bit less important that it was. That’s not funny, but it’s odd and it needs dealing with.

I am plotting with such vigour, I shall be purchasing a fluffy, white cat to stroke.

* Clearly re-incarnated from a wet Labrador.

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