"You don't spit, into the wind..."

Tuesday was a crazy windy day here in London. There was a strong wind coming from the north.

I went out in the morning, but my heart wasn't it in, and I "only" did a short 20km loop.

But late in the afternoon, fellow rider Pieter called on the spur of the moment and asked if I'd like to bike home with him. He lives 15km directly north of me. So we slogged north into this nasty headwind. I took 55 minutes to cover those 15km. Ow. Ow. Ow. At times it felt like a walking pace as the wind buffeted us down to 12 km per hour. Trucks driving south were particularly unwelcome, as the wind of their passing just made it worse.

When we reached Pieter's house, we had some tea and cookies and relaxed for a half hour. Then came the fun as I hopped on my bike to head back home alone. Pieter was sure I'd make stellar time, and wanted me to call him as soon as I got home. So my ride alone wasn't quite alone; it felt like Pieter was on my shoulder the whole way pushing me. (I may be reasonably healthy, but I have NEVER been an athlete.) Ever time I thought of just relaxing and coasting home, I could "hear" Pieter encouraging me.

And it was a lot of fun. The wind at my back was exhilarating. I was averaging 29.8 kph up until I hit the edge of the city. Then the rush hour traffic and stop lights knocked my average down to 27.5 kph overall. The trip that took us 55 minutes going north, was completed in 17 and a half minutes going south. My thighs were burning, but it was a fun accomplishment.

[EDITED MUCH LATER: And much later of course I realized that this didn't make any sense whatsoever. I must have read my computer wrong and didn't do the math properly, since even at 30km/h it would work out to about 30 minutes, not 17. Mea Culpa]