The ride to Blackpool was superb - riding in a group of seven, we pootled along rather nicely with each taking a turn into the headwinds near the coast. Arriving on the promenade in bright sunshine rather deluded me into thinking about riding home and passing up on the arranged lift. A plate of noodles later and I was off, retracing my steps and smugly watching the stragglers limp to the finish. By the time I'd got to around 94 miles my cheeks were protesting and the legs had been drained of any energy to push on the slopes. I stopped for a pint of Doom Bar and gave myself a talking to. From there on it got a whole lot better - the chaffing was accepted as a fact of life and the legs were told to get on with it. By the time I was home I'd completed 124 miles (at least 30 more than I'd ever done before) having established a reasonable rhythm and felt I could go on another 20+, albeit at the more comfortable pace. Statistics seem to indicate I got back a mere 20 minutes slower than the outward leg, but there were a number of lengthy and necessary feed stops on the return. It took a good day and a half to recover mind...