Stats are for moving time only and so do not include (1) the leisurely lunch stop at Cafe Guzzi, (2) the detour to CAIRN – Kilmacolm for an oat milk flattie to escape a peloton of dick-swinging M.A.M.I.L.s*, or (3) Josh stopping to chat to every-man-and-his-dog in Inverclyde. 🤷♀️ what can I say? We’re zingueurs**!
At 94 miles including the commute there-and-back, this was officially my BIGGEST DAY EVER on a bike. Will I ever not be hungry again??
*M.A.M.I.L. (noun): ostensibly a Middle Aged Man In Lycra, but colloquially used to encompass men with all the gear and no idea, ludicrously expensive bikes that aren’t designed to take their hulking frames, complete lack of awareness or etiquette when riding with other cyclists on account of the fact they don’t do so much in the way of training, and take being overtaken by a woman as some kind of affront to their very masculinity, therefore they make every effort to re-overtake said woman even if it means popping a hernia in the process
**zingueur (noun): cyclist who is mostly in it for the coffee stops, so-named after the zinc-imitation tables outside many a French cafe
5 May, 2019