Sam has Vaseline in her handbag and she hands it to me with her lovely smile; an angel of vaginal salvation. Except I actually dreamt that and all she handed me was a bowl of porridge. Mercifully Trev does have Vaseline, though not in his handbag. I salve the raw areas and we're ready for the off.
I wish that was the end because the rest of the day was utterly brutal. Grown men have cried. Uphill all morning and then some more uphill after lunch. Very steep and very long. I had to stop for breath twice on the last one. It was very steep and long. Miles long. Cycling for MILES uphill. Have I mentioned how hilly it is? The route maps were in two sections this morning because so steep, long and treacherous was one section, we all had to be taken up in the vans.
Sorry, that's all I have. Oh, other than its very beautiful in the mountains and the cows have cow bells. And there are lots of hills.
Rusty Bob and I have fallen out. Not because he's done anything wrong per se but because he's just still here. Despite persistent attempts to lose him, swap him or get him stolen, he's still here, all old and rusty and ridiculously heavy and interminably roadworthy. I gave him a kick when I stopped for a wee in the sunflower field. He took revenge by catching a stinging nettle in his derailleur which whipped my legs down the next hill.
Maybe someone - a remote Alp dwelling hermit who appreciates old workmanship rather than new fangled expensive bikes - will steal him tonight from the hotel shed. Otherwise we'll just have to do it all over again tomorrow. I'm so over cycling.