The List

The off season adventures of Sam and Flic

Camp Sweat & Nonsense: Day 1

Ridiculously early start even for us. Is it appropriate to have eaten four breakfasts before 8am? Hmmm.
15 visits to the sports luggage man before eventually being able to put our overstuffed bike boxes on the flight at Gatwick Airport.

Sleazyjet flight average. Bit of nodding dog action. But hoo bloody rah, here comes the sun. Touch down in Tenerife. Bright sunshine, 20 degrees. It is clear that Flic is itching to reduce her clothing levels to near minimal.

Bit of a palaver getting the bikes back. Last lot through the system. Eventually we get them. Didn’t help that it was in the basement and we were desperate for sun. Did help that the lift we were in had been graffitied to say 69 – a special reminder of Team 69 in Monaco (Sam, Flic and Troy).

The lovely Susanne comes and picks us up from the airport and insists on dragging Flic’s heavy bike box. Er has she not seen Flic’s guns? What about helping Sam out!

Get to the apartment and oh my god. We have lucked out. €55 a night for a beautiful apartment with roof terrace and hot tub. Boom!

Roof terrace is only accessible by a spiral staircase but that doesn’t stop us from hauling our bikes up there in bits to build. The sun is out after all!

Good news for Flic as Ferg is filthy and there’s a shower up here. We decide its a bike shower, not person shower.

Bikes being built. Sam’s almost done but then starts pacing around. The idiot thinks she’s lost a bit of her bike because her saddle won’t stay up. Half an hour of combing the apartment on her hands and knees follows. Flic soaks up the sun. Taking the lead in the tanning comp. Maybe she’s hidden the supposed missing part. Some time later, Flic points out that Sam was just putting the screw in the wrong hole…again.

So after discovering free wifi and the obligatory tweeting, Facebooking and more tweeting. Then maybe one more tweet. We stop faffing, get our bikes and head out onto the open road. When we say open we mean uphill. The training plan says 1-2 hours easy spin. Hmm. Well we are in our easiest gear. Start climbing. Nice and steady. The climbing is relentless but when the gradient drops to 6% it’s amazing how it feels like a flat road. Today’s route is out of El Medano, through Castro San Isidro, then up to Granadilla. Stop here for a quick drink break and photo opportunity. Mild error in judgment as now we have a hill start. Keep on climbing and then turn off towards San Miguel and some welcome downhills. The scenery is amazing. Not all downhill back to El Medano though, a few sneaky climbs, then the bloody wind hits. From all directions. Cue some horizontal riding, serious core training and literally white knuckle riding. So it turns out even if we do want to take it easy we’ve managed to pick the windiest place on the island to stay.

Back to our awesome apartment. Straight up the spiral staircase to the roof terrace. There is one small square of sunlight left. Two chairs. Two sun worshippers. It’s not that warm. Goosepimples. But the sun is out and there is a tanning competition going on here.

But we also have a run to do so we better get our asses back into gear.

Sam to Flic: “That’s disgusting.”
Flic to Sam: “I’ll sort my dirty bucket afterwards.”

Er. We’ll leave you to decipher what that means (note: read back to the dirty Ferg bit you dirty buggers).

So, shorts on. Trainers on and out into the streets we head. Training plan says 30 mins easy run. Now you see the problem with that is that both of us think the other is running easy and deep down inside we are probably trying to out run each other. That’s great for training. Not so great for sticking to the plan. That said, the run is awesome. Out along the boardwalk then into the sand and over some moon-style sand dunes. Turn around at 15 mins and there’s that bloody wind again!

Battle on. Turn to each other.
“Is this you running easy?”
“No, I’m trying to keep up with you.”
“Er, I’m trying to keep up with you.”
“Oh. Shall we slow it down?”

We didn’t.
Run to supermarket. Choff chorizo.
Now what?
Hot tub?
Oh, go on then.






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