we dream of jensie... and the peloton in general
we dream of jensie... and the peloton in general
I just dreamt I was supposed to be going on a date with Fabs at a swimming pool but he stood me up. I was thinking well I’m not surprised he’s stood me up, it’s not the first time. Also had the idea I’ll go tweet about this and all my followers can tell him off for it. It was quite weird, a dream about Fabs and he never appeared in it
I dreamt I was at some sort of posh do - an opening, or maybe a race - and everyone was dolled up to the nines. Footballer’s wives level of satin, towering heels, big hair, make-up and nail varnish. I walk in feeling unconfident in my best level of dressed-up-ness: no make-up, flat shoes, my only skirt. I look like I’ve wandered in by mistake. Outbreak of wobbly legs and fluttering heart on discovering the meeter and greeter/usher for the event is a male amalgam of Chris Boardman, Ned Boulting and Guy Martin. He reaches out and shakes my hand, which is typically (and entirely true to reality) unmanicured, rough, and with oil from fixing bikes ground into the cracks. Then, in a 100% Guy Martin voice, he looks at my hands as says appreciatively ‘Ooh, them’s proper hands, not like these other women here’, and gives a disparaging glance to the rest of the room in their finery. All self consciousness and lack of confidence is gone in an instant and my heart is warmed and soaring by this uber male hero character selecting me, the ugly duckling, as being noteworthy out of the room full of peacocks. Best seats, special treatment and VIP access are promised. The doors to the event start to open. I wake up, never finding out what the event was, but with a lovely warm feeling that my hands are not a source of shame, but of pride. They’re proper.
I’ve just remembered I had a dream about #AwesomeAlex last night. We were best friends and he was helping me look for something, then halfway through the dream he turned into Chris Froome. Very weird. I just turned round and it was Chris Froome instead of Alex. I could’ve cried.
10 minutes with Ashleigh Moolman
I am standing outside a bar or a place where music is played and beer is drunk. It is late and dark, but quite warm. I was inside before because i can smell it from my clothes, but my dream started standing there, outside. Thinking about where to go now. Contemplating that perhaps it would be better to go home and sleep early.
Tomorrow’s Sunday, and that means cycling.
A few meters from me loads of bikes are parked (townies, as they say).
An old mate of mine, someone i know since we were kids, rides his bike out from the bike parking onto the street, with Ashleigh Moolman directly following him.
"Where are you guys going?" i shout, thinking maybe there’s something interesting going on where they’re headed. I don’t remember what my mate said, but it was clear he didn’t want me to come with them.
He had something going for Ash, and it looked to me like she was cool.
Cool, i thought. If this means there’s a possibility of me meeting Ashleigh Moolman at the bar over the weekends, totally cool. I can question her about pro cycling. She’s a great motivator, and her motivation might rub off on me a little.
(it did not occur to my dreaming self that if she was living here, i could
invite her to ride with me and my mates on Sundays).
Anyway. They’re off.
Somehow later (dream time eh) i end up in this big smoky venue, where there’s a dance party going on. I remember it being less than half full. There’s bad atmosphere, the floor is sticky and the music is terrible.
I’m still wearing my jacket, looking around to see if there’s anybody i know in this place.
There’s Ashleigh Moolman, leaning against something, staring at the dance floor. Looking about as bored as i am. She’s alone, and it looked like my mate had just left. I want to go home, but i have to say hi to Ashley Moolman. Standing there alone, she looked a bit sad.
I’m sober and i remember thinking i hope she’s not drunk.
We chat for about 5 minutes. I don’t remember what about. Then a song is played that we both seemed to like, because we simultaneously swung our arms in the air. I said let’s go and gently dragged her onto the dance floor.
We both dance like crazy, doing our best to finally get some atmosphere going in this place.
The song is over and we’re back to terrible, terrible music. I say that’s it, i’m going home. We both leave. Me on foot. She on her bike.
Had a dream about Daryl Impey so had to include him in fantasy team. Sorry I have no context, just he was in a wood-panelled bar, GreenEdge kit but no helmet. Fleeting
Spartacus on skis
I met Fabian Cancellara on a ski slope. He was wearing a white one-piece with a gold belt. He was with four other people but I didn’t know who they were. I was deeply flattered when he asked me what I did for a living.
The other night I was a famous reporter, away at a women’s race writing reports for a newspaper (for some reason, the concept of a newspaper being interested in women’s cycling didn’t alert me to the fact that this was a dream).
After a hard day in the press box and interviewing my heroes, I’d found a nice pub and was enjoying a few quiet beers when I became aware of a large group of black-clad figures huddled in a dark corner of the pub. Goths!
I had gothic tendencies as a teenager, so I moved a little closer to admire them. Then I realised they looked rather familiar… Emma Johansson, Valentina Scandolara, Marianne Vos, Lizzie Armitstead, Emma Trott, Giorgia Bronzini, Lucinda Brand and several others, all of them secret goths!
Who’d have suspected that, eh?
Dreamt I pulled Wiggo clear of the peloton. He blew up the road to enjoy a game of football with the crowd, write a sweary article about recovery and have a lunch of cheese with Paul McCartney. I don’t recall who won but someone walloped Pantani with a metal spoon as he chased to get back to the leaders. The co-op was closing down too. I do not remember how Wiggo felt about that but he didn’t like the housing plans.
I was riding for one of Cyrille Guimard’s teams (it was distinctly 80s). It was a start-of-the-year training camp. He got us all together and asked us what our fitness was like.
I said I could run 10k at 4:35min/km, and he looked disbelieving, but impressed. He then made me run around a 20m loop 500 times (and no-one was even timing me!).
Last night, I had a dream that I met Taylor Phinney at a crossroads and he was playing a red acoustic guitar (it might even have been a ukelele, I can’t remember exactly!) Anyway, I was taking photographs of him and he was acting like it was a photoshoot doing different poses. Very funny! Sad when I woke up and realised I didn’t have these pictures on my camera to share, but also good when I heard he had won the Dubai Tour.