Self-photograph. The event was over, and I was riding alone again. Now I just had to make it home. I was at about 175 miles so far. I was riding out of the saddle (standing) for as long I could because of a nasty saddle sore which had developed. Unfortunately, I was burning energy too quickly that way and had to sit for a while to recover. Then stand. Then sit. Rinse and repeat. By now I was on the verge of making a pact with God along the lines of: If He would help me make it home, I would never ride on Sunday again. (I know He's more partial to Saturday as a day of rest and worship, but all the best rides are on a Saturday. No point in promising what you can't deliver, especially with God.)