Tell us about your weekend ride

120km, 4 bidons, 2 cans of coke, 1 carton of ribena, 1 coffee, 2 bananas, 2 Calipos, 1 scone.

Jour sans: As shagged out as a bonobo who has eaten a box of viagra.

Being a man's man I decided to set out on my delightful adventure when the sun was at its zenith. Slathered in my cheap factor 50 it was no time at all until I donned my mystical fly-coat and could use their thousands of tiny beating wings to gain an extra 3W over the distance of the 1600m of climbing that I would do.

Fly jersey sorted my travails began in earnest, as not 10 mins from my current abode there is a 400m high climb over 4.5km to the summit, with an average gradient of 6% that ramps up in places and I go over it at least once every ride. Despite a day off the bike yesterday, this truly was a jour sans as I whipped my spam-filled crank monkeys up to a reluctant tempo.

A hipster looking man in rapha with tattoo on calf dropped me like a jobby scented stone as I neared the summit, clearly perplexed by my fly-themed acoutrements and thankfully giving me some kind of target to chase the rest of the way to the top. Alas, for chase as I might, the result was shite and the hipster escaped, probably fevered and en route to the nearest shop to try and buy my diptera accented gear.

Today's route was ambitious, ambitious enough for me to even plan it and wait the 20 minutes it takes my arthritic Garmin to boot it up, and despite a strong and bravely immediate instinct to turn tails onto a shorter and more familiar route I rustled my jimmies and pointed the Grubaix Special into the blinding inferno of the sun.

Melting tarmac is a rare thing around these parts and not even the frozen Ribena cartons I'd cunningly secreted in my doping-hall-of-fame Kelme jersey could apease the god of sweaty testicles, so it wasn't long before my posh tingly assos chamois cream was making it's way northwards and goading my sweaty chocolate starfish to add yet another dimension to the monochrome suffering I'd been expecting.

On to territory unfamiliar and very little rise was an everest, every hill as drawn out and unpleasant as watching the Vagina Monologues for a third time. The sheep were sprawled on the grass regretting their fur and looking at me with an incredulity that suggested they thought i was a royal cunt for moving even at the modest pace I'd summoned from my fly-matted limbs.

Rounding one corner I was surprised to see the kingly form of a bull, massive erect pizzle primed and hovering next to the object of his affections who seemed stoicly resigned to the rutting that was to come. Little did I know that my own rutting had not yet commenced, and nature had more surprises in store for me so I blundered on, collecting more flies as I went and quaffing fluids like your mad alchy uncle at a free bar.

50km in and troubled, I opted to parade my aphid resplendent finery in a cafe and chomp a scone. The waitress was obviously unfamiliar with such customs and treated me with stunned deference as she enquired after my jam preferences. At this point an American lady the size of a house sat near me and started giving my baked goods covetous glances so I was forced to cram it into my hungry maw as fast as I could lest she try and steal it from me. Somewhat sickened by her oozing folds I taunted myself onwards instead of bailing and scuttling home.

On surprisingly quiet roads, another 25km of leg-sapping undulations and I was at the loch I'd planned to circle before turning southwards again. At this point I set upon a deliciously cold coke at some calipos from a cafe and sat dazed staring at the haze rising from the water and wondering what the fuck I thought I was up to. Metaphorical but still rather sinister vultures were circling my underprepared corpse and the sunny heat that everyone else seemed to be revelling in was to me become like unexpected letter from the HMRC.

So like a French kamikaze pilot, I abandoned my grand plans and turned for home and natural law punished me for it. Eking my leggies southwards by the same route it was clear there was plenty more dripping bull pizzle coming my way, and sure enough, despite panting my way doggedly over a route called 'the top o'the world' I was first set-upon by a sexually deviant horse fly that wanted an invite to the tingling gooch party and bit me on the arse through my shorts, giving me a much needed injection of speed as I fled my assailant.

Then, not half an hour later, I was accosted by an antisocial bumble bee that saw the fly party I was hosting and thought my jersey was the portal to some kind of nectar orgy whereupon it whipped down the neck of my top and saw me slapping myself frantically whilst veering all over the road. Two stings above the right nipple for my troubles and the little fucker was ushered out the bottom of my jersey surprisingly unscathed. Somewhere in the distance, the lowing of a bull was surely wafting over...

The hill I had struggled to get up even in the first hour of my ride was now, some 4 hours later, still planted there like a bastard charity mugger when I returned, except from the north side, it's a fucking bitchload worse. Without any option of an easier route I dragged my aching nipples, swollen arsecheck and spicy anus up it, molested, overheating and unhappy, with the kind of blank stare that a Vietnam vet would be envious of whilst sadly listening to the gentle creak of my shoe as the 8km of stifling climb stretched out before me.

Cracked, popped, blown, bested, shamed and labouring to maintain 10kmph. At this point all I needed was some 19 stone Trek riding, Sky adorned mamil to winch himself by me and I would have steered myself into the ditch and lain there weeping until the crows picked me apart.

Thankfully, none was present and I crested the summit with a final vinegar stroke and as my front wheel pushed forward and let gravity take hold it felt sweeter than any kinky penetration you care to imagine, and I swept down, cadence flatlining, insect wings aflutter, towards salvation and an ice-bath where I could wash away my many companions and set about forgetting this ill-fortuned day.

'Fly jacket'. Ha, ha cracked me up well done :)