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Not being of means to take myself to surprisingly fair Norway, the Gruber settled for local hills interspersed by Teutonic campervan aficianados and their silly dogs.
Some 1500ft of very steep climbing and 60 miles later sans appropriate gearing, and several very steep descents where 'my steering felt funny' (found out today my bastard quill converter/headset were dangerously loose) I felt like I'd been melted, sucked through a straw and shat out Jan Ullrich's arse in a kind of thick infusion of nutella and bad epo. I also passed two old boys on a tandem who were heading UP the 20%er that I'd been erratically pointing myself down. I would dearly love to know if they made it, but alas I will just have to imagine that they had to stop half way and put themselves at the mercy of silly-dog loving Germans I'd been treating to a whiff of my pungent sweat a while before.
There's no real mystery as to the climbing like a sloth with a thyroid problem, I just need to lose 10kilos and ride more. Which, crabon fork with aheadset newly installed this very day, I fucking well will.
Still, trotting home in a torrential downpour was still win as not only was I wearing my new gabba gilet and feeling pretty smug, when I also transpired across a random coffee cart in the middle of nowhere that was churning out delicious home-roasted coffee. Some things you can't really explain and you're better just being thankful for.