I really didn’t want to do this. Neil’s cycled up Mt Ainslie tons of times and said ‘it’s not too bad’, but to me, although it’s only a small-ish climb, it’s virtually vertical.
I reluctantly said I’d give it a go and then tried to get out of it to go and drink coffee/read the paper/visit the Bus Depot markets.
Neil convinced me by saying it would make a great entry for the blog; after all, being ‘ert’ is what it’s all about. Plus, wow, what if I actually got to the top. That would be something.
It was pretty evident as soon as I got on the bike that this was going to be a complete nightmare and, as usual, I cast around for someone to blame. Oh look, there’s Neil; he’ll do.
All the way up, he very wisely kept well out of hissing, spitting and tantrum range and let me fume and mutter bitterly to myself. At the top I managed to prang the bike on the pavement and entertain some tourists by falling off.
By this point I was so fed up that I couldn’t bring myself to speak to Neil until we got back to the car – even getting to the top and then bombing downhill at 65 km p/h (which was pretty amazing) didn’t make up for the hideousness of the uphill cycle.
This holiday I’ve been seriously ert just about every day. But in future I’m leaving cycling up sodding mountains to Neil.
Next holiday I’m going to a spa.