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  • I went out for a ride tonight on my own. Another plan fell through, and I was keen to get out there, all lit up.

    I put the toddler to bed, had some savoury pancakes, and set off just after 9pm with the vague intention of riding down to Crystal Palace, then doing the 28 mile loop that the Dulwich Paraplegics do on Saturdays, with an optional added loop up the Bec Hillclimb course.

    It was a bit chilly - I'd been a little optimistic eschewing a second pair of socks - but I set a good steady pace, definitely felt visible from all angles, and luckily didn't meet any fuckwits in private hire vehicles as I passed Herne Hill and made my way through Dulwich Village.

    The street lighting gradually thinned out, and I'd just been thinking, after Corkscrew Hill, how it was really starting to get quite dark, and then suddenly...

    BLACKNESS

    Upped the Hope to high beam, and stuck on the torch on my helmet. The combination was great, though I really had to duck my head down for the benefit of the few oncoming cars I passed.

    Anyone who's ridden that route will no it's a longish, slightly twisting drag of a climb around this point, and I subconciously found a good rhythm in the 39x15, whilst my conscious mind concentrated hard on looking ahead of me.

    But I discovered I also have a sort of inter-conscious mind that falls between the aforementioned others, and its job is to both question the sanity of plungeing further into desolate and dark country lanes on my own, as well as suggesting some of the unspeakable badness that might occur.

    I reached this point:

    You can see from the more detailed map below, a descent into hell awaits:

    So I turned around and rode home, getting some decent time-trial pace stuff done on the fast but quiet suburban roads near West Wickham. Some drunken cunt called me Armstrong going up Annerly Hill, and I was considering getting off and slapping him until I was distracted by a slightly sexual show of approval from a woman walking about 20m behind the Lanceophile.

    Back home at 11pm, 30 miles in the musette.

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