On my return from Spain, I was floored by a 48hr tummy bug. It wasn’t something I ate as my beloved and I had eaten similar food, and he was fine. Unusually for me, I spent all day Monday in bed, feeling sorry for myself and wishing I was out on my bike. My beloved had to fend for himself and, since we were just back from vacation, the proverbial cupboard was bare. In addition, he had to organise his own packing and get a taxi to take him to the airport yesterday morning as I, still deep in the land of nod, wasn’t prepared to stray too long or too far from a bathroom.

When I woke late morning, I felt weak, but better than the previous day, and decided to hop in the car to fetch essential supplies: L’Equipe and rice cakes. Four rice cakes and a cup of herbal tea later I was feeling much improved and decided to tackle the admin mountain, largely cycling club related. Early afternoon I started to feel that maybe I’d overdone things and had a quick power nap. I awoke refreshed and headed to the club to deal with the licence renewals. En route I received a call inviting me to a post-Vuelta celebration. How could I refuse? Fortunately the restaurant selected serves a number of plain dishes which I thought would be fine washed down with copious amounts of water.

It turns out the cakes were a great success, indeed one of the team, who suffered quite badly with gastro troubles, which put an end to his GC ambitions, ventured to suggest that if the team had its own chef, like many other teams, who could produce goodies such as these, then maybe he’d have been fine. Boys, my offer is on the table. A repeat cake order has been placed for the World Championships, where my friend will be contesting the road race.

This morning I felt well enough to venture out for a gentle ride and was feeling fine until I was overtaken on the way back by a granny on one of those small wheeled shopping bikes. Outraged, I gave chase up the hill to the Domaine only to discover her bike had an engine. So it was even more satisfying to go flying past her – who needs an engine?