Green Lane is a single lane farm road lined down the middle in places with gravel and occasional sprouting greenery. Tractors are fairly regular sights. Cars and vans less so. Today I spy a massive articulated truck bearing down towards me. I figure it’s about to turn into the side track, towards the industrial farming compound, and so I refuse to slow and make the calculation that it’ll be turned before I reach the junction. I’m right, and as I pass I ride into the cloud of dust kicked up in its wake. In my head of course I’m in Paris-Roubaix, on the Carrefour de L’arbre, dropping Spartacus and on my way to a solo victory in the velodrome. The race was never won so slowly.