A Wifey Weekend Roll out to start off Sunday morning.
The feeling of being trapped in Small Town England came ever closer. Two of the roads leading out of the town have been resurfaced.
The Essex bodge job approach is to literally pour some glue on the surface, and them dump gravel on top.
They are impossible to ride on a road bike - ask @pmmikes.
And so we took a slight detour out by the football club, and then cycled off to Gawd knows where.
I was ‘leading’; Anna was the back seat rider, shouting instructions at every turn.
I was back on familiar territory for the home run and the Elmstead School Road Sprint. I found the big cog, sat up in the saddle and buried myself.
A PB followed.
Hurrah!
I almost ran over a pheasant in the process.
Whoops.
The rest of Sunday was sadly written off with work. I managed a brief manic garden session, but I had arranged to pick up work shifts on what was one of the warmest days of the year.
Arse.
Anna did her golf disappearing act.
I would rather stay in and work to be honest.
And that’s how Sunday came to a close.
I’m still not sure why it was necessary to have a client training session at 10pm on a Sunday evening, but pay to play Jase. Pay to play.