Author: Richard

Drive through banks, drive through chemists, drive through launderettes, drive through restaurants, drive through funeral parlours…

Okay I made the last one up. But all the same nobody seems to walk anywhere much in this part of America so the locals spend an awful lot of time sitting on their backsides. And so will we over the next month as we saddle up and pedal 3,000 miles across the US. Which means we have to pay special attention to our,  ahem,  nether regions.

Without wishing to ruin your Easter with talk of hot cross bums scrupulous hygiene is called for.  For starters we’ve got to make sure we’re squeaky clean down below,  then smother our cheeks with chamois cream and finally wrap them not in cotton wool but padded shorts.

In the old days that meant slaughtering  a goat-antelope, tanning its hide and sewing the resulting soft leather into the gusset of one’s riding breeches. Now it’s pretty much all synthetic and the only thing that gets slaughtered is your wallet.

I paid £220 for a pair of Swiss-made ASSOS T.cento s7 bib shorts (think lederhosen and the Sound of Music and you won’t be far wrong on the look) which is an eye-watering sum of money by any reckoning. But then a sore backside can be eye-watering in a different way. And in any case if they perform as the manufacturer promises it’ll work out to just over 7p per mile. Question is will they?

Search the sales blurb for an answer and all you’ll find is the usual pseudo-scientific hyperbole. Here’s an excerpt.

The unique insert is a small masterpiece that has been specifically designed for ultra-long-distance missions. Ergonomically shaped, it uses higher density memory foam shock absorbers and features a very special ASSOS invention, kuKuPenthouse. In the front section of the insert there is a low volume circular inlet that accommodates the male anatomy in cocoon-like comfort, yet holds everything securely.

Sounds like a load of old bollocks – literally when I’m wearing them. Which I did today for a 40km training ride. To be honest they didn’t feel significantly more comfortable than the pair I wore on the same ride yesterday and cost only a quarter of the price. But hey it’s way too early to say if I’ve been sold a bum steer. The proper road test begins in little over 24 hours.  I’ll keep you posted.

Humans, like hire cars, need refuelling.

Although there the similarity ends. Our Chevy Tahoe with its huge gas tank can go days between refills. We can manage only a few hours between meals. And while eating fast food and filling a vehicle may take roughly the same time only the car can be driven straight away.  The body takes much longer to metabolise a meal into the energy it needs to keep going. And so it is that endurance athletes (I use that term only loosely to describe myself and Rose) have to eat little and often to stop running out of energy and hitting the wall or, as cyclists call it, getting the bonk.  Our bonk prevention strategy involves posting box after box of energy bars and gels (more than 40kg in total) from the UK to the hotels and motels we’re stopping at  along the route.

As you can see from the picture below some of the boxes contain packets of powder that look suspiciously like cocaine or heroin so I’m a little worried they (and quite possibly I) won’t reach their final destination.  Note to Hollywood movie moguls reading this: if I am thrown into prison for drug smuggling can Brad Pitt play me in the film version? Rose wants to be portrayed by the actress off Homeland.

For now we’re more worried about whether we’re properly physically prepared for the journey ahead. We’ve put in the distance but will we be fast enough to keep up with the more experienced riders and average the required 16 mph?  A chance meeting with ride staff Mike and Karen  who, like us, are getting a few last minute supplies at a local bike store doesn’t do much for our confidence. They are whippet to our mongrel.

Later we console ourselves with a carb-loading meal at the Japanese restaurant just over the road from our hotel. And that’s when it hits me. We’re raw. Like sushi. Not just undercooked but uncooked. Let’s hope it’s not that kind that kills you if not properly prepared.