The pheasants have it. The hedgehogs fail to show.

I’m sure it happens in other sports but the slow descent to exhaustion seems to be a peculiarly cycle related phenomenon. There are times on the bike when you feel that you can ride forever. The cranks turn, the wheels spin, its effortless and a joy to experience perfect harmony of man and machine.

There are other times, when your feet and hands are numb, your legs ache, your back hurts, your shoulders are tense, your head itches from dried sweat inside your helmet, your eyes burn and the pit of your stomach feels like it’s digesting itself. This is the bonk. And it was in this state that I found myself sat on a bench on the village green of Halford about 25km from home, unable to eat or drink and lacking the energy to worry about what this might mean, but knowing that a large hill separated me from home and I couldn’t ride it.

I had set off alone into a fierce wind and had a vague idea to retrace the route we took last week, simply because I wanted to enjoy the climb out of Broadway (regularly voted prettiest village in Britain) to Snowshill (home to a glorious national trust manor house) without the wind rain and sleet that had accompanied it the week before. In hindsight I seriously underestimated the toll a hard gym session on the bike on Thursday followed by a broken night’s sleep due to Imogen having a sickness bug and a wearing day in the office (yes, I do have them occasionally) had taken. This combined with the effort of cycling 40km or so into the wind tired me before I even got to Broadway and it was a laboured climb that I didn’t enjoy at all. Tougher than the week before and I was miles from home. To add to my discomfort I hadn’t prepared properly, being just keen to get out and had only a banana, one energy gel and a couple of wholly inadequate supermarket energy bars with me. The route I’d chosen was essentially triangular, Warwick to Evesham, to Stow on the Wold and back, so I never seemed to get the wind behind me. It was either in my face or over one shoulder or the other, blowing me across the road.

I had wisely stopped at a pub (the delightful, Fox at Evenlode) to replenish my water bottles (I drank three litres in total) but was still exhausted as I clicked over 90km into Halford, a quaint but largely uninteresting village. I imagine it owes its existence to the presence of an old packbridge across the local river and its proximity to the rich woollen towns of the Cotwolds (they’re not made of wool, they owe their existence to the wool trade).

So, I sat on the bench and after 5 minutes gathering my thoughts, forced myself, despite the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach (caused by dehydration or fatigue I know not which) to eat a frankly disgusting Gillian McKeith peanut based “energy” bar and drain another water bottle. I gathered myself for a final push and dragged myself the remaining 20km or so at an increasingly slow pace (is this a tautology? Can something increasingly diminish or should it be a decreasingly slow pace? That doesn’t sound as dramatic, so increasingly slow it is). I didn’t enjoy a single moment of it, just wishing for it to end.

To further frustrate me I had turned back into the headwind and my route home was dictated by purely pragmatic decision making, flat and direct, although I did benefit from having the wind at my back for the final slog into Warwick and up that bloody hill that the castle sits on.

It was with some pleasure that I staggered home and flopped through the back door, 5 hours, 118.8km and 3300Kcalories worse off. To be greeted by the words “you’re in the doghouse”. Beth had sat waiting for me listening to the air ambulance overhead, as I’d said I’d be about 3 and half or 4 hours, understandably worried.

To follow, I had planned a gentle jaunt with Edward around the quite lanes of south Warwickshire on Sunday and the weather was by contrast, still, sunny, warm and just about perfect for cycling. But another sleepless night as Beth caught Imogen’s sickness bug to add to all her other post operative ailments put paid to that. Which is probably just as well because my legs are sore and my back still aches.

So it is with some satisfaction that I sit here, freshly showered, glass of red wine, chill out music on the iPod and a bar of Green and Black’s chocolate to fortify me (I don’t know who’s it is, I found it in the cupboard, I hope Beth or the kids weren’t saving it for a special occasion, but they’re all in bed so I can’t ask them) ready for spin tomorrow. Training to ride 500km in 4 days for charity is actually quite hard work whilst having a life too. So please sponsor me!

Roadkill: Pheasants 6 (remarkable!); foxes 1; rabbits 1; squirrels 1; hares 1; flies 2 (swallowed alive); Hedgehogs nil.