Oktober

[Sweder]

I don't know why certain people pay good money to have their backsides strapped by some middle-aged Doris wrapped in black clingfilm. Seems to me 45 minutes on a static bike would do the job for a good deal less. I nipped down to the hotel gym just as the maid threatened to evict me from my room. She stood in the doorway, a five foot tall/ wide ball of housekeeping fury swaythed in trowelled-on make-up, brandishing a toilet brush and a set of clean towels.

'Meester, you go know! Must clean room!'
'Just a mo dear, must hit the gym first. Then shower, then dressed, then leave, OK?'
She offered me a frightening gap-toothed smile and bustled off down the corridor, no doubt to put the fear of God into any other slackers still loafing in their dorms.

No sign of the delicious young woman who'd entertained us all so acrobatically on Tuesday. In fact the torture chamber was bereft of life save for a worbling Tammy Wynette assaulting the crackly PA. I swiftly donned my earphones, plugging into the Texan sophistry of early ZZ Top before leaping aboard my very own pain machine. Jesus Just Left Chicago, Been Waiting For The Bus All Day, Pearl Necklace, La Grange . . . ah Tejas, how I've missed you! 45 minutes 'covering' 14 miles, average heartrate of 122 (it went up to 145 when Motorhead's delicious Going Down popped up), oodles of sweat flecking the dull-grey cowling. I felt good for having bothered - with five hours to kill before strapping a 777 to my backside I could as easily have opted for a Hurley's matinee - but walking like John Wayne for the rest of the day seems a high price to pay for good behaviour.

Now, sat in the lobby bar, duly turfed out by Rosa Kleb, a plate of half-mauled Soba Noodles congeling next to a Virgin Mary ('we'd all like one of those' quipped the waiter), I'm thinking that Hurley's might be a good call after all. Trouble is it's not a great option is it? Undoing the good of today's peddlefest and loading up on alcohol before a seven-hour dehydration session at altitude. OK, here's the deal; I'll go to Hurley's but limit myself to two pints of Guinness. I'll drink them very slowly, savouring every sip, and the moment the second one is drained I'll spin on my chair and hail a cab to Dorval.

Can't say fairer than that, eh?
[SIZE="1"]God it's hard to type with your fingers crossed.[/SIZE]

Uploaded overview of route and elevation from yesterday's run