Friday afternoon fast busy roads, last 30 miles home against a belligerent headwind, and straight into a low winter Killing Sun.
One way or other I could just die.

Nothing for it but to put the Jens Voigt face on and bury self towing an imaginary team along. I am strong, I am super-domestique, I am a peleton crushing tempo, I am pulling them along like a train, I shall destroy myself for the good of The Team.

I am spat out the back on the last rise as my team's climber surges ahead to victory. My work here is done, all I have to do now is grupetto myself home inside the cut-off time.