On Sunday I'll be taking part in the Richmond to Windsor bike ride. It'll be the fourth time I've done it, and it's always a great day out. And before anyone complains that geographically Richmond and Windsor aren't actually that far apart, it's a very twisty route, so shut it. And I have to cycle to the start line, and back home later, so all-in-all I'm looking at around 60 miles in total. It's lucky my legs are so awesomely powerful.
Usually it's just me and Mr Chunt who take part, but this year Sweatband is joining us (she roped me into running, I roped her into cycling; it's only fair). Sweatband has subsequently amassed a few more cyclists, and renamed 'Team Sparky' to 'Team Sweatband.'
She's also claiming not to be looking forward to it, as she thinks that she'll fail miserably. We can always put the stabilisers back on, I assured her, but she reckons the BIG HILL toward the end of the route might be her undoing. Quite frankly, I think she'll be fine - she'll probably latch onto me with a grappling hook and I'll unwittingly tow her up (that is as long as she hasn't rammed a stick into my wheels or smeared jam on my saddle by that point. I think I'll push her off if she has the look of murder in her eyes).
So all in all, I'm a little giddy with excitement. I'm number 136, if anyone cares.
Right, I'm off to pump up my tyres, sterilize my bladder, and polish my helmet.
Here's a picture of a dog dressed in a Star Trek uniform to keep you occupied while I'm gone.