My favourite part of the midweek chaingang isn't the ride – it's the pint with my friends afterwards

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There are many great traditions in British cycling - the chaingang itself, with its unspoken rules, frantic callouts, and last-minute sprint showdowns, is one of them. But there exists a quieter, lesser-celebrated custom that deserves its own moment in the sun: the magical post-chaingang pint.

No, this is not an endorsement of midweek beer consumption (other drinks are available, and equally treasured). This is about something much deeper than a cold drop in a glass. This is about the ritual. The reward. The absolute joy of rolling into a pub garden after an hour of all-out suffering, arm in arm with the very people who inflicted it upon you.

For me, the destination is a small institution in Oxford with a beer garden that feels like an open-air clubhouse. Our jerseys may still be damp, the legs twitching with lactic acid, but morale? Never higher.

Every week, waiting for me, is the Dodo APA, brewed by the Dodo Pub Co. It's a wonderful schooner, one that tastes somehow better when consumed with helmet hair and slightly sunburnt forearms.

But let’s not get distracted. This isn’t just about the pint. It’s about the debrief.

You see, the chaingang is never just a ride. It’s an unofficial race wrapped in a social contract. It’s orderly through and off for 34km, followed by chaos, glorious chaos, for the final six. Once we’re sat at the table, drinks in hand, the commentary begins – we all become pundits.

“Did you launch on the last climb, or was it James?” “Chaps, I genuinely did double puncture – I didn't stand a chance.” “I think we'll break the KOM with that group next week.”

There's a wonderful contrast in how seriously we take it, and how unseriously we reflect on it. One minute we’re debating power numbers and tyre pressures, the next we’re chatting about someone’s nightmare week at work, or who forgot to bring lights again – there's always one.

Someone always caves and orders a burger and chips. The chaingang is hungry work, after all. Like crafty seagulls, the rest of us swipe in for scraps.

And I think that’s what I love most about the post-chainy pint: the sheer normality of it. There are no protein shakes, no prescribed recovery protocols, just a group of mates, chatting as the sun sets, slightly knackered and extremely content. It's important to remember that riding bikes is meant to be fun – take the time to talk absolute nonsense about it in the process.

It’s also the surest sign that summer is arriving. We’re finally back to those golden evenings where the kit dries on your back before you get home, you don’t need arm warmers, and you can sit outside with your mates for a few extra hours, legs ruined, but soul restored.

So here’s to the post-chaingang pint. Long may it pour.