I smell that smell, it's that time of year again...

"I smell that smell, it's that time of year again..."

Anyone keen on Welsh indie bands circa 1995 should recognise that lyric. Riding this week came with several doses of nostalgia.

After a week of working late, I finally managed to get out early enough on Friday for a decent post-work ride. 29 miles to Clevedon and back, trying to chase Pete down who got out 15 minutes before me. Despite getting my head down and ploughing a big gear, I just couldn't make up enough time - he'd clearly found his legs!

As I skirted the outskirts of Clevedon I passed the local Comprehensive school, with its playing fields smelling of wet mud and damp grass. The smell was evocative of rugby games at school and the lack of hygiene that 13-year old boys have - not that this 28-year old was smelling particularly fresh after a frantic day of work and 15-miles in 45 minutes.

Further down the road I caught up with Pete, who'd pulled in the wait for me, and we rode bit for bit towards Portishead along the northern edge of Walton and Weston moors. As the sun set, mist rose rapidly from the moors creating an eerie sight. I wondered how many people had ridden across those moors on horseback in times gone by. Pete and I however were futuristic travellers, I thought, dressed in tight fitting space-age clothing, riding carbon fibre horses. The delirium of hard effort and tiredness had set in.

I woke on Saturday with the feeling that my body was doing its utmost to stay in bed. It was a battle of wills. My head won. I agreed to meet Pete for a ride. 43 miles this time, out towards Wotton-Under-Edge. Saturday was the warmest riding day of the year and I soon regretted my four layers. By the time we climbed the 250 metres of Coombe Road (B4058) towards Stroud I was roasting. The smell of heat and warmth was all around. Even the tarmac smelt warm.

The ride back was a gentle canter as we chatted about this and that (talking is always a sign of an easy ride!), giving chase to each other's bursts now and then. Post-ride stats showed the distance was ridden with 16.2 mph average, slow by normal standards but it seemed wise to listen to our legs. Friday night's miles were weighing heavy.

I hadn't planned to ride on Sunday but needed to call in to Halfords and see about a cracked rear wheel. I rode the 6 miles to the store, got the wheel sorted with the minimum of fuss (a shout out for the great service at Halfords Brislington) and took the long route home through some new lanes on the outskirts of Bristol. I rode through Stockwood and Whitchurch to find East Dundry Lane. It's surprising what you find when you're prepared to explore. Dundry is high above south Bristol, offering excellent views of the city on one side and Chew Valley lakes on the other, along with some beastly climbs. Although this was close enough to the city, it was definitely countryside. The smell of fresh, moist cowpats hung heavily in the air - another smell closely linked with spring. I smiled, but not too much - shit brings flies! From Dundry I coasted downhill towards Bedminster Down, making a mental note to try the 170-metre ascent one night after work.

163 miles for the week. My biggest total to date and my calf muscles, hamstrings and lower back all feel tight. I must become friends with Mr Stretching this week...