A collection of wince-inducing, cringe-worthy moments endured by cyclists
A spy tells me of a member of his club who did RideLondon. This rider, let’s call him Charles, did actually get round the route pretty tidily.
However, by the last few miles he was running on fumes, and beginning to see stars. He wanted nothing as much as to get to the finish, get his kit bag back, and drink his recovery drink.
But when he got the bag, he found that almost the entire contents of the drink had leaked over the rest of his kit. In desperation he licked the bottle. Then he licked the inside of the bag. Finally, shamelessly, he started to try to suck drink off his once-clean clothes.
“When I found him post-event,” says my informant, “he was standing in plain view of hundreds of people, sucking the crotch of his underpants. We call him Y-fronts now.”
Turbo rug resistance
A story reaches us of a newcomer to the pleasures of the turbo-trainer. Having bought a trainer, of the cheaper variety that uses the tyre on a roller, he set it up in his living room, and climbed aboard.
All seemed well. But as time progressed, it got harder and harder. It felt as if the resistance was constantly increasing. He put it down to fatigue and poor pacing and redoubled his efforts.
The burning smell was