Yes, there is a frisson of excitement in the Prouse household this week (or at least I’d like to think so) as the annual Paris to Ancaster bike race approaches. It is this Sunday and, as usual, will see over 2000 riders toil across rail trail and farmers fields, hauling their seized up bikes down the aptly named ‘mud chute’ and then up the final killer hill to complete the 60km course. The weather looks to be unseasonably fine, with sun and 17 degrees forecast (usually it is sub zero and snowing), although the forecasters haven’t got it right once this year so far, so I am not going to look for my shorts just yet.
Rob, having vowed never to do it again (after vomiting on the shoes of the people waiting at the finish line last year), has signed up so that he can spend the next 12 months moaning about how much he hates it and how he is never doing it again. For my part, I just hope that I don’t brake my bike again, and therefore at least stand some chance of finishing within 4 hours.
In any case, we are giving ourselves a bit of a carrot at the end of it in the form of a BBQ at our house for the people we know who are racing that day. Veggie-burgers and beer are the only way to recover from such an utterly silly race.