Worked last night, off now, till next Thursday, that’s the way the shift pattern works, though probably, I’ll get called in for some overtime, it’s holiday time. Cycled to work, taking in an extra mile or so, along the Aberavon seafront, really lovely.

When I got to work I discovered I’d left my keys at home, this meant I couldn’t get into my locker, to change clothes and freshen up. As a result I had to work through the 12 hour shift in my cycling gear….ugh! Not just for me, as several deodorant cans flew my way. “Ma vittals” were in said locker, so I had to make do with even less of the less to eat that I had expected, result, starving bigtime. Consequently, I felt very light on the trip home this morning, even passed another cyclist, which hasn’t happened often in my cycling carreer.

At this juncture I’d like to point out that I always make the effort to speak to fellow cyclists, unlike the ignorant @*~#’s I usually meet up with. It’s simply a good morning, nice day etc., and mostly I’m totally ignored??? Perhaps it’s down to me being a strange, possibly frightening sight. I’ll get a picture of myself onto the blog asap., in my usual commuting gear, my darling will have to do the honours, still that is a treat, you my reader, will have to come back for. Meanwhile, let’s get back to that cyclist “I blew away” this morning, I believe that’s the correct terminology.

Cycling through Resolven, into strong sunlight, I thought I caught a glimpse of the fellow cyclist in the distance ahead, it dawned on me that he couldn’t be moving too fast, because I’d stopped a little earlier for 5 minutes or so, while I watched for a buzzard I’d disturbed on the road, to return to its roadkill meal of woodpigeon. I carried on and once we were on the Rheola straight, he was in plain view, obviously not moving very fast, because well, it was me who was catching him up. Now came the FEAR factor, O.K., so he wasn’t moving fast, but what if he started to speed up when I had the audacity to actually try and pass him. On top of that the “Rheola straight”, as I call it, is a long shallow uphill slope, that I always dreaded on my way home, in the early commute days, still do occasionally, when I’m feeling pooped. This could mean the distinct possibility of me running out of steam, and then suffering the ignominy, of becoming the passee, after making him the passee, if you get my drift.

I was now at the planning stage of my “passing strategy”, as I steadily gained on him, I decided to maintain a “quick” pace, and a “steady rhythm”, OK, so Tour de France this isn’t. I was eating up the ground now, and then actually PASSING him, while he struggled up the slope. As I passed, we turned to face eachother, and I said to him, “Great stuff isn’t it”, to which he replied, “I’m in heart attack country here mate”, which made me laugh out loud, in recognition, that oh, had I been there, just like him. I FLEW on, and shouted back, “I know that feeling very well.”

My passee, by the way, was a little old man, in a winter coat, corduroy trousers, hobnail boots, a flat andycap, on an old mountain bike, but hey “scalps” are “scalps”, and so “he’s mine”, as they say in the vernacular.

Isn’t cycling just fantastic, even for fat slowboys like me!

Now, where’s that picture of Dallaglio when he had hair?

Cheers.