Sunday was all about the Colchester CTC 100 ride.
And that was about it.
This was the third year in succession that Anna and I have cycled the 100km around the back lanes of Essex and Suffolk - something of a statement in itself as to how well organised the ride has become.
It's the perfect ride for me. The timing as the season is starting to change is wonderful. There are similarities with the Ride of the Falling Leaves back in South London.
Plus as with most CTC events, it is simply a ride with no other reason than to enjoy cycling per se.
There is no talk of sponsorship, PB's, winners or losers.
You simply sign on, and then have your own battle in trying to make the six hour cut off point.
And if you don't make that?
No one is really bothered.
After the ride out to Wrabness on the Tourer yesterday, Sunday was a day for the Roadie.
I had read the route map and seen some of those Essex hills that needed to be climbed...
It wasn't the greatest start as I had forgotten how to change gears on the Roadie.
We've not been out nearly as much as I thought we would this summer. Most of our time has been spent in South London.
Cycling past the University was ever so slightly amusing.
The new freshers were starting to arrive.
That was us, 25 years ago today.
Good luck, kids, etc.
The BIG ESSEX SKIES had dark cloud above.
Where did they come from?
The signing on station was a bloody golf club - Anna's bloody golf club.
If it wasn't for the lycra, then I reckon she would have opted for 18 holes instead.
It was a weird - although friendly - meeting of the clans.
Lycra and golf casual on a Sunday morning is a most odd combination.
And then shortly after 9am, we rolled out.
The Garmin was pre-loaded, and so it was just a case of Follow the Dancing Purple Arrow.
I was soon reminded how I LOATHE going downhill, but rather enjoy the challenge of the climb.
Anna is the opposite.
We had a cat and mouse game on two wheels all days.
Mid-morning tea was taken at Wally's Biker Cafe.
There was a little confusion in the planning. The biker boys were of the leather variety.
The middle third of the ride then made its way over to Finchingfield - a location that will forever now be associated with that GLORIOUS day on Le Tour last year.
We took a light luncheon in the tea rooms, plus some smuggled in homemade flapjack.
33km were still needed. I tried to approach this as thinking of it simply as the usual weekend roll out out.
It was bloody tough.
We clocked in back at the golf club with 8 minutes to spare.
I fell asleep in the sun for a short while, before making the strategic cop out decision of catching the train back, rather than continue riding.
Sunday evening was then spent having a long soak, and then some work shifts to finish the day.
Oh, and This is England.