It is remarkable that we havent fallen out yet. We have upgraded from a once a month friendship to four, sometimes FIVE, days a week. And our joint responsibilities dont stop at cycling; after a healthy dose of en-mass bridesmaid shoe shopping the previous day, I pedal to Hammersmith to meet Kate once more and we're waved off by a smug Eleanor Brown. The two of us, head to toe in revolting padded lycra, watch her trot down the street; with her heels and little executive suitcase and well fitted, non reflective trousers, to catch a plane back to Dublin. We have no use for heals or natural fabrics these days so head up to North London for some hills.
Up through Ladbroke Grove we wind until we reach Hampstead Heath, notorious for it's unequalled views over London. There's a price to pay for this view though, and it temporarily defeats me and I stop for a breather half way up. Kate, however, pulls something extra out of the bag and soars to the top in one smooth, hyperventilating triumph! I catch her up at the top but having being stung before and now inherently suspiciously, we dont believe that could've reached the actual top already - there must be a sneaky verticle revine out of sight, round the corner - and therefore dont stop to admire the spectacle which should act as our bounty. We realise too late, once we've soared partly down the other side. No view point is worth cycling back up. Instead we press on up through, what Darius would describe as undulating, Crouch End and Muswell Hill until I in particular am rewarded with my first visit to Alexandra Palace, panoramic views and a cold pint of Grolsch with a packet of salt and vinegar.
Pitstop complete, we cross East to Tottenham, stopping off at Kate's brother's house for a cup of tea. But he's not in so, seeing as how well we had done (and not influenced by the pint of beer) we cut our ride short and take the direct route home through town, via Farringdon.
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