For the cyclist it was a three mile stretch of bumpy country lanes covered in fresh tractor-droppings of manure with busy flies buzzing around. Struggling to breathe through a blocked nose should have reduced the stench of baked crap but it meant having to breathe through the mouth and choke on the odd fly. When the rear wheel kept slipping on muck on a steep ascent the suffering was complete.
For the flatmates it was bringing the bike inside and stinking out the communal area with its caked and baked manure.
For the bike it was being left outside all day at work the next day after stinking out the office. Poor old poo bike.