A life of pork pies

Yesterday was a day off.  Thank God for days off.  Slimmer fitter people would probably feel fine.  But no - not me.  All this cycling makes me feel pumped.  And I'm not talking about vestigial winds here.  No.  Muscles feel bigger but not necessarily stronger.  It's as though someone has found the ever elusive schrader valve somewhere on my body and connected me to a high pressure airline.  I feel like I'm gonna explode!

Days off like the writing in this blog are all about decompression for me.  Of the mind as I write and the body as I rest.  As a result I feel more refreshed and ready for the next day.  But not without the calories.  Oh no.  I weigh 20 stone.  Me and the bike weigh approx one sixth of a ton.  So I need the input to push this mess of a thing along the road.

We've proven on this trip that I don't have skinny legs.  No, they're probably the biggest pistons around and so need tons of fuel to make them work.  I'm Isambard Kingdom Brunel's bastard child.  Forged in my early years from wrought iron I need tons of fuel per day to keep me moving.  Masses of coke to stuff into the boiler in order to move several thousand tons of iron through the sweaty seas.

I know that Audrey II has been awake for some time by the rumblings below as she starts the small fire inside of my boiler every single day.  Waiting eagerly at the end of the chute like a linebacker in her ready stance for the play to commence.  

Everything is in order.  A new big bladed shovel has been purchased with which to move the mountain of inbound stuff off of the chute into the boilers firebox.  And a new rake with which to drag the remains of the day onto her old Greek Airport baggage conveyor belt which, right now, is fully loaded and I'm just waiting for her to hit the big green button as I write.  When she does the whole mess of a thing starts to run with a rumble and a whir.  For sure I have to be close to a toilet cos there's no emergency stop button here top side.  When she decides you've gotta go - you've gotta go!

But you get my drift.  Cycling is fecking hard work for me and so I need to eat.  An average human would need to eat lots on such an epic adventure.  My crap nav reports that I'm cycling the equivalent of 5-6 hours non stop every day and on a good day I'm using on average 4000 kcals more than normal.  On a hard day over 6000!  Some say that it is impossible to consume that many calories.  So for an adult man thats 6000 to 8000 per day isn't it if we also allow for the calories needed for the other 18 hours when not riding a bike too?   

Well I try.  For sure if I don't then I will bonk - a word that describes cyclists who have run out of energy and have hit the 'wall'; folk with wobbily legs who walk like yer looking at the back legs of a dog doing it, you know, doggy fashion.   And watching me bonk is as close to a snuff movie as anyone might ever get.  So I eat.  Lots.  You cannot be a fussy eater and still find the energy needed.  

For example here's what I might consume per day on this glorious ride:

Firstly I drink about a gallon per day.  Made up of juices, teas, coffees, rehydration fluids and water.  One half of which I'm sure exits through my pores..

Breakfast number 1 - consumed at @5am when I wake.  Normally biscuits if I have them or as last night the triple cheese sandwich I bought from Tesco's the previous evening - now with turned up corners. 

Breakfast number 2 - @8am cereals with milk and a banana if they have one.  Full English with brown toast and poached eggs but not marmalade.  I want the good carbohydrates and fats not the raw sugars.

Elevensies - @11 a piece of cack and a coffee if I can find a cafe which I often do.  If I can't I delve into the stack of cereal bars in the handlebar bag.

Lunch - @1pm.  I eat whatever I can get.  At least two sandwiches, brown bread of course, with soup if I can.  Tea and water / soft drinks.  Try to get rehydrated.  Drink until I need to pee which is a good sign. 

Afternoon tea.  @3pm - more cereal bars and fruit juices.  Or tea and cack if I can find a cafe..

Dinner Number 1 - for example the other day I got to my destination at about 4.30pm so it was a large roast pork sarnie with stuffing and roast potatoes in town.  Whallop!  Gone!

Dinner Number 2 - Now I roll my sleeves up.  Cycling has finished for the day and I'm showered and clean and sat in a restauraunt at 8pm and order:

Main Course Number 1 - Normally something in lieu of a starter, for example spaghetti with  bollocknaked sauce.  Rice and pasta stuff with some greenery you know.  I try to avoid mountains of chips..

Main Course Number 2 - Just another main course off the menu... whatever they have...

No puddings normally.  Well that would just be rude wouldn't it?  And too much raw sugar again.

No more than two beers.  But WOW!,  An ice cold lager after a hot, sweaty, strenuous day is just something else!

And finally, folk will often find me with something interesting in my mouth when I go to bed.  

Now some folk just cannot do it.  They go tilt with the 'I'm fecking full' sign writ large in their eyes.  Not me.  I will eat until I'm bored or if eating something crunchy until my gums hurt.  As a teen at home in my days of hard weight training Mum would make 2 or 3 dozen bun sized /Yorkshire puddings for the Sunday roast.  The first tray load was for me.  As a starter with meat gravy (yum!) and whatever was left from the rest of them went down straight after the main meal. 

Now buried in my daily intake when tour cycling is about 6000 plus calories.  Yet as I go I feel things slackening on me.  My belt is not as tight.  My jacket is a bit looser etc.  It is still not enough.  But it will do.  

My problems start when I get home.  I find it difficult to take my foot off the carbohydrate throttle.  I tell the butcher to deny me everything, but he does not.  The swine!  I spy the loaf of brown bread in the shop which I buy and is all gone before breakfast the next day.  

Sadly it's a life of crime - to my body.  I'm a food addict.  It started in the early days eating pork pies with other folk, only socially of course from time to time, that got out of control with me often buying two from the pork pie pusher in Woodthorpe, sometimes the bigger ones.  That was the start of my downfall and which took me to this terrible place.  

Today I find myself wandering the cooked and fresh meat isles at the supermarket late at night in some darkened corner negotiating a price for the good stuff; then tucking it under my coat for fear of being spotted as I leave.  I get home, put the music on, line up the mini scotch eggs on the glass living room table and with a snort they're gone!  But I need more.  Cocktail sausages are dispatched the same way using a 50 pound note.  Sausage rolls need care in prepping them before bonging them in with a bit of brown sauce.  

Years of abuse have left me a poorly man.  Overweight.  Type 2 diabetic.  No shit Sherlock.  But the interesting fact is that even with all of this abuse my blood sugar tends to improve to the point where the local drug pusher is happy for me to keep off the tablets and my blood pressure hovers somewher in the 120's over the 70's domain.  All the side effects of type 2 have gone.  My skin is better and I no longer need to take the dog for a short walk to the toilet every night to help my body dump the sugar excess.  Good!

But I am a food addict.  I have two mutually beneficial hobbies that mean I can eat and tour cycle to my hearts content.  But the fantastical rides do come to an end and so I need help to resist my other addiction. 

So when I get home after this long ride out.  Please help me.  Do not offer me anything to eat.  Even it I demand it.  Cold turkey is needed here.

And I don't mean the sliced stuff that comes pre packed from Tescos.

Ciao for now.