It was about 11.30pm and I was 16 hours deep into a 24-hour ultra event. Standing in a queue composed largely of boisterously belching gentlemen fresh from a night of beer swilling in the local boozer, we were all lining up for a serving of mystery meat at a kebab van parked in a layby.
Despite a collective hankering for highly calorific fare, our reasons for consuming it couldn’t be more different; The boozers wanted something that would soak up an evening’s worth of ale. I wanted something that would allow me to get back on my bicycle, boost my cycling performance and pedal with a little more urgency than I’d be able to muster for the last hour.
