That was braw.
A grand night oot wi' chiefy. Weather was good, the hill was a bastard, and the roads were bumpy. Highlight of the evening was avoiding the suicidal sheep on the Fairlie Moor climb while breathing oot our erses. I think the fact we were going so slow and weaving left to right like drunks just confused them further. Don't think they were reassured by Klaus's carbon wonder bike creaking louder than my knees either. No doubt the creaking was due to the kilowatts of power the big ring god was laying down as he flattened the hill.
Seems like we had a tailwind on the way out and the way back, or maybe the relative flatness after the hill made the rest of the riding seem easy. Klaus narrowly avoided being collected on a volvo's bonnet while ripping across a mini-roundabout in an effort to wind it up for the final hill of the ride. So shaken was he that he had to pull over halfway up, gibbering something about his gears not working.
Then back to chiefy's where he tried to tempt me with the shiny contents of his for sale box. Happily I'm skint.