With the temperatures climbing to thirty five degrees it was doubtful if many would turn out in such searing heat but lo and behold, the Magnificent Seven were there to dodge the bullets, bury the concept of weakling Beginners on Boot Hill and mosey on down through the badlands to Leatherhead. Law abiding? Every single one of our number was now a tin star, a fully paid-up member of Cycling UK.
It all went disappointingly peacefully, the only gunfight over which of the many coffee saloons we should quench our thirsts in the stifling heat. It takes tough leadership to quieten such a squabble; three shots in the air, his Colt spinning around his trigger finger and slipped back into its holster, it was Lucio's, where the sausage rolls taste of sugar and chocolate.
On the way home the temperature thankfully sank to thirty one.
Six of the posse riding back over Epsom Badlands, halting briefly to recover from the burning heat. The seventh stayed behind, married a local gal and settled down.
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