Not bad for an old man …

Two things happened on the weekend.

1. I did actually turn 30; and
2. I realised that attempting to ride over 200km without any training and in pouring rain and freezing conditions is not only insane, but is likely to earn one a derogatory (but loving) nickname.

Thinking back I should have listened to, well everybody. My friend P. gave me plenty of opportunities to pull out - the last one on the morning we were to leave. He called, said it was raining and asked if I still wanted to come. I think I said something particularly stupid, along the lines of "bring it on!"

It was brought on.

We set out not long after 6am and rode through the silent city streets. The rain wasn't too bad and the cold not as bad as I'd thought it would be. By the time we hit Queanbeyan (Canberra's nearest New South Wales neighbour) things had taken a nasty turn. The weather had gotten colder and the rain heavier.

We struggled on up the first of the many big hills. Well, I struggled P. just whistled and disappeared off into the foggy distance.

To cut a very long and painful three hours of me-wishing-I-was-dead short, we eventually pedalled into Captain's Flat - a small mining town 65km from Canberra and a quarter of the way along our route.

By this time the rain had really set in and I was so cold I couldn't change gears any more.

We stopped at the first available place, a gas station, and ordered hot cups of tea. I have pretty steady hands most of the time, but I was shaking so much from the cold that I managed to spill about half of the boiling hot tea all over my hands before I managed to take a sip. It was pretty scary that I couldn't feel the skin burning.

There was no way I was getting back on that bike.

No way in hell.

P. decided to push on and instantly rose several notches on both my esteem and insanity registers.

After P. departed, still whistling and looking cheerful (a look he still possessed 9 hours later when he arrived at the coast, by the way) I staggered across the road to the nearest public toilet and had one of those moments you'd rather not have.

Standing in front of the urinal I realised my hands were too frozen to actually undo the button on my shorts. The only thought that ran through my head was "I'm almost 30-years-old and I'm about to wet my pants".

Luckily, I managed to force the button open with my frozen clumps (formerly known as hands) and the crisis ended in a warm stream heading in the right direction.

Next it was onto the phone booth and the call of shame. I phoned my father, who owns a ute, and asked if he was busy ... then spent the next hour thawing out in front of an open fire in a lovely cafe called The Outsider. My parents arrived, had a good laugh at my expense, and bundled me into the car for the return journey.

I arrived home to a much-amused C., who struggled to keep a straight face at the sight of my sorry state.

A hot shower and fresh clothes made me feel much better (though I'm not sure I'll every get the chill out of my bones). The better feeling rapidly departed with the arrival of C2 and L, who were to take us down the coast. The jibes flowed and continued to flow all weekend. So much so that I have been re-christened "Captain Flat" by my work colleagues.

It seems like the name will stick ...

... Still it could be worse.

Happy birthday to me.