Don't you hate it when it's four in the morning, you are woken with the need to take a 'nature break', and when you crawl back into the warm cocoon of your bed your mind starts racing with inane crap, like "should I buy that new Stumpy" or you recall the dream you were having and try and analyse what it could possibly mean?
If the dream is about you sighting possums in a tree in your childhood backyard, which then morphs into a wombat, which nips at your feet while you try and escape in slow motion, eventually turning into a feral pig which your father straps into a catapult and fires into the air, then it's probably not worth your time.
But I wrestled with such demons this morning, so the only thing left to do was get up, see how cold it was, get back into bed, get up again, bite the bullet and get on the fixie and hit the bays. Turns out to be the best cure for sleep deprivation.
There was no wind, the sun was peeking throught the light cloud, and the air was crisp and fresh smelling. The only blight on the ride was the Penny Farthing (bike shop) bunch I encountered on the return leg, who deemed themselves too important to bother to return the nod and wave i proffered.
But not even a bunch of roadie wankers could ruin such a pristine morning.