Old Upper Thomson Road, 24 km. On Sunday, I run a half marathon (being injured meant my training was only for a 15 km run). The run is ok but I walk like a lame duck on broken glass a few hours later. On Monday, I am on scheduled leave but clear my work emails in the evening. Today, the pace is frenetic; I work 1.5 days in 1 day (based on 8-hour day and lunch at my keyboard) and start cycling after 10 pm. I tell myself, this is not a training ride. It is active rest + road test of pedal adjustment and new brake pads. All is well until a roadie sits on my tail. I crank up my crank but he overtakes me when I clock 43 km/h. My stomach full of murtabak protests at the strain.
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