How very slowly can you drown a man so that he doesn’t notice? One fun way is to get back on the bike and train before you are completely healed and listen to the mucus and the fluidy goop fill up on an hourly basis. Cough quietly so as not to trip the wife alarm and pray for the best.

This whole exercise would be a lot easier if I was v-logging it, but since I have yet to sponsor myself a decent video camera, and since I’m still riding like a tiny monkey on an even tinier monkey bike it could be some time. Still. I enjoy writing about it as much as doing the last 50 km in the rain on an empty stomach.

It’s been raining London hard for three days and I’m busy ironing metaphorical decals on holes in my training regimen where the giro used to be next to the Queen’s place. If you know what I mean. I feel good about having prepared mentally better than ever before. I have the best and most up to date Excel spreadsheets ever put together in the history of amateur racing.

Even better, I have already planned out my racing plan for 2018 in such a way that I will not pay one cent in entry fees, and will be able to ride 5 Boroughs and go to Milan for the fixie final in October and pull off an almost round the world trip flying in business class.

It’s important to remember at the final stages of training just how much money and effort to make that money goes into getting to the start line. It’s not like you can lie about all day and watch videos and cash royalty checks. It takes genuine hard effort.

Had some fun on Monday on Mt Pleasant and then headed over to Mt Royal looking for someone to race. I didn’t have to look hard, someone found me – whipping past on Cote Ste Luc in a cheating manner because I knew he had just descend, or descended the hill and was basically surfing on the tide.

I popped into my favourite position which is holding pattern about 3 lengths back so I don’t let the gear shifting or the chain whirr alert him to my stealthy ways. I let him turn the hill and hammer up into University of Montreal which is the perfect place to drop a hammering hammer head. I see him turn hard right, almost 100 feet ahead of me, and the challenge is thrown down. I keep spinning on my crappy, not very mountain friendly cogset, and pull every fibre of my body in towards centre, imagining being crushed by high pressure rim tape, and start reeling him in.

Just before the top of the very short, very steep section I see him wobbling left and right almost comically and know he’s gone too hard. He’s had it. I’ve got plenty left in the tank and I cruise by exactly at the soul crushing crest and change up to a much harder gear just to be a dink. To his credit he haggers (mix hurl and stagger) on to my wheel and I pull him flat until the last climb. Then I find a rather hard gear and suddenly he has two shoulder bags full of concrete, and I drop him hard over the bridge.

Bye.

It’s childish and pathetic on so many levels but I really find this kind of ninja assassin bike riding to be quite useful in training, and pushes me harder than the half-measure whiffle that I can maintain by myself.

So it has been a good week so far and it’s only Wednesday.

Plus I watched Francis Cades’ videos a lot, which is almost as good as training in the rain.

Photo credit to him.