Port Seton Harbour

Despite feeling less than bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning, the sun and his Lordship's persuasive talk about Dr Bike making me feel better, propelled me out of the door and onto my bike to cycle down to North Berwick.

The sun had also teased out most of the Edinburgh population and the coast road was humming with cars, whose passengers were already ensconced on the beach when we arrived at our destination.
With the tide out, there was plenty of space for everyone on the west sands.

But my very own home grown Bradley Wiggins was not a man for lingering in the town and we turned for home, favouring the inland route which was a little quieter.

I was in danger of thinking the leisurely run was in danger of becoming our own pensioners' time trial, but the thought of a cooling drink at Port Seton was the carrot at the end of a stick for me and kept my pedal cadence at a level Team Sky would have approved of.

The countryside was looking so lush and verdant today in the sunshine.
The verges were ablaze with colour: poppies of all shades of red vying with the colour of red campion and the yellow of ragwort and dandelions almost hidden in the long grass. And always on the way, North Berwick Law standing sentinel on the horizon with the white guano stained Bass Rock appearing to the left as we neared the town.

You have time to see so much more on top of two wheels.

Now I am watching Froome and Wiggins decimating the time trial. Bravo Britain!