There’s but one day a year when you get a free hour. We shift our clocks, but something more magical than that, something more marketable happens. Two men of sub-phenomenal fitness levels have consumed pressed pots of sacred oily beans, dressed themselves in copious layers of status-indicating wicking fibres, and met at an hour grand. The Bonus Hour. Thanks to the genius of western world timekeeping magic, this two hour journey may only register on a STRAVA-type social exercise network as one hour, therefore we get to shatter every record. It’s like a secret tunnel in Marioland, but sufferer. An occasion so exclusive of course warranted branding and a smartly conjured roundel. I cannot tell you too much, or at least not without asking you to first visit our web café boutique to prove your commitment to our vague but attractive purpose.
Now, absorb the gritty imagery of this prouesse, and may giddiness accompany your anticipation of each coming caption.