5am on a dark September Sunday morning, and I am really enjoying my bed. My alarm clock has other ideas - it wants me to get up.

R.E.M. is blaring out and, instead of the appropriate-for-this-time-of-the-morning "Everybody Hurts", we get "Shiny Happy People". The DJ is either in need of sectioning, has a sick sense of humour, or both.

Plan for the Wee Yin is to leave her till the last minute, then get her out of bed and wrap her up in the van still in her pyjamas. She's quite excited about it, especially since she knows that race day is "ride on daddy's petrol tank day".

The Missus is Terminator efficient, packing stuff inbetween force-feeding me porridge . The Crap Dog is wondering what is going on and is hiding from everybody in case it's one of those ones where we are going on an aeroplane and she's off to the kennels. If you've never seen a collie trying to pretend that it's not there, it really is worth watching.

Now I have to have respect for the fact that Track & Trauma is a tough race. They have to have respect for the fact that I am better trained than previously, I now know what to expect, and - above all - I am ready for them. I have a great bike, all the ingredients of great technique, and I have a score to settle.

I won't be winning today, but I won't be getting kicked off my bike.

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