I was worried in France that with the extra heat meaning I’d gone down to just a single layer that I’d um, “overcooked” parts of my body. Thing were seriously uncomfortable in the seat area for a few days, and I even went as far as buying a pair of bib shorts (and a natty lycra cycling jersey in the same colours as my bike - I’m obviously turning into the special category of cyclists that I’d previously filed under “sad w****rs”. But lycra is just so comfortable and practical too. See what I mean?), which are just great. How I can have gone for so long without them is now a mystery to me.
Anyway, the problem I had was a bruised feeling at the top of my right leg, where the muscle (hamstring?) connects to my hip bone - you know, the bone that’s razor sharp on children when they sit on your knee. In other words just outboard of the part of your body that takes the weight when you’re on a narrow saddle.
Over the fortnight in France, this gradually got better. But then as soon as we got home, it was back - far worse than ever. I went out yesterday evening, and cycling with it was just fine. It seemed to be sorest when I got in the car to go to the supermarket to stock up on all those things that we’d emptied from the fridge before we went away . . .
. . . and then it came to me. My sore backside was nothing to do with cycling, and everything to do with the thousand mile door-to-door distance between here and the In Laws’ house in the south of France. That’s basically 18 hours each way with my butt parked in the same position on the drivers seat of the car. Little wonder that I’m sore!