La Doyenne was ready for chairman Brian Kilbride in 2013. It heard him coming, and laughed as heartily as he had over the pints that hatched the plan to take on the 276k test; Liege-Bastogne-Liege.

For good measure, they have cobbled the town centre of Stavelot. A leg-sapping 500m leads on to the Haute Levée, which heads straight up an uninviting dual carriageway out of town. It was unrelenting. About a kilometre up, I climbed off. I was physically and mentally jaded. I had been going for over eight hours, had close to 3,000m in the legs, and another 1,700m of climbing and 100km of punishment staring me in the face.

I was cramping and depressed. I could barely stomach any more waffles or gels. I contemplated my options and finally decided my day was done. The "Train of Shame" was calling, and who was I to refuse? It was 5km downhill to the nearest station, which we had thoughtfully noted the previous evening. An hour-long trip back into Liège, alone with one's thoughts and time for personal reflection—it was not a happy trip.

I myself feel I probably underestimated it, got my training wrong, and then rode badly on the day. On checking my computer readouts after, my average heart rate was 130, but there were far too many spikes up into the red zone too early in the day; I ended up running out of matches. I got as much as I deserved. It probably is possible to do with six hours of training a week—just—but you have to do everything right, both in the lead-up and on the day. It leaves me with a gnawing feeling that I should come back and do it properly next year, but I am not sure I would be able to manage it, even armed with this year's experience.

But this affair was not over. He felt finished, tamed by those 11 famous climbs, but a year later, he did manage it...

All that remained was the descent to Ans in the suburbs of Liège and a further 1.5km at six per cent. This was like downhill compared to what had gone before. Sadly, the route turns off 100 yards before the left turn where Dan Martin so tragically came to grief the following day, and we did not get to sprint it out. That said, the pecking order of the group was well and truly known to all of us by that stage.

Rolling 5km back to the sports centre was like a victory lap. All the medals had been distributed by the time of our arrival and they were beginning to pack up shop. There were bars, burger joints, and merchandising stalls on the go, but we favored a trip back to the hotel for the victory sip on the street outside, all swearing never to undertake such a folly again.