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Oliver Schick
I'm off work sick following a steroid jab on Wednesday in my injured left elbow in an attempt to get it sorted after a fucking YEAR, so I've been at home lazing about for three days. I get a call from the good lady who is riding home from Hounslow to Thornton Heath (about 18 miles), gets halfway home and her rear gear cable snaps. Mech jumps to the small sprocket, forcing her to grind home on a 42/12. She nailed it, bless her.
She does a minimum of 36 miles a day, sometimes up to 50 miles cos she rides to see patients during the day. Usually rides her Aussie crit bike, which is so short and steep that if I ride it I swear my foot hits not the wheel, but the front hub. It's mad. She turns 50 next month, too. I dunno how she does it.
Also, the amount of grief she gets from other (usually male) riders who hate being overtaken by her, plus car drivers who think a fit woman in Lycra is a legitimate target for abuse, is appalling. I keep meaning to follow her to work and back one day at a distance, but I reckon I'd be on a murder charge if I did.