In Which The President Stayed Home

Sometimes life is so cruel. It would have been easier if it had been pouring down rain or blowing a howling gale straight from Antarctica. But no – it was absolutely perfect. When it became evident that I would not be able to make it to the regular ride, not only was I upset for myself but I also started to worry about what would happen to the peloton in my absence. I started to have visions of disorganised and impatient riders bolting off the front leaving the peloton spread out all the way from Mt Evelyn to Warburton. How would Crasher Lewis control his eratic surges of testosterone ? Would some of the older riders even be able to find their way to Warburton without their expert guide ? Would there even be such a thing as the Ghostriders in 7 days time ?

Over the past 6 years I had honestly done my best to attend almost every weekday and weekend ride, but due to circumstances completely beyond my control, this day would go down as a rare blemish on my attendance copybook. Throughout the afternoon as I sat hunched over the keyboard I pictured the dreadful calamities that might be unfolding at that moment.

It was not until much later that day that I received word from Gary as to how the ride went. “We had a great ride, 22 riders in total and everyone maintained the best pelotonic unity in living memory” were his words. I guess it goes to show that no one is indispensible, not even me.