Transcendance

Cold. Very cold. Too cold for snow, except it won't melt. Too cold for cycling, that's for sure, especially if you fell off last week and don't want to risk it happening again in a short space of time. Cats may have nine, I have one, and already a weak shoulder is in it. As someone in Eastenders would say, it's just not worth it. Only in Mockney.

So the exercise bike it was. With ipod. And eyes closed, short sleeve Marmot top on, assos skinweb socks and bib shorts. Could have been the Tourmalet all over again.

When will this cold spell end? Will West Ham survive in the Premier League? Which is the best album ever made? Where have the last ten years gone? Are out-of-town shopping centres God's cruel joke at our expense? Or just our own creation of hell? Why do so many people like the X factor?

All this and more went through my head over 30 artificial kilometeres of interval sessions in 75 minutes. But mostly? It was nothing. Just me, the breath, the rhythm of pedalling, and the watts on the display.

What exactly am I pedalling?