Knock, knock, knockin'...

It's been about a decade since it last happened but last night on my relatively innocuous ride home I managed to get the knock and it was a pretty awful experience let me tell you.
The knock - aka the bonk or hitting the wall if you're a joggist - is caused when you use up your stores of glycogen in your muscles and liver and begin the process of burning sugar in your blood to fuel your ride. This depletes pretty quickly leaving you in a semi-hallucinatory jellified state dreaming of home.

Froome mid-knock dans le tour

My ride started in good style climbing up out of Uppermill and to the summit of Huddersfield Road. It was here that it both literally and metaphorically went down hill.
Weak doesn't event come into it as I freewheeled down to the shop in Middlebrook and re-fueled with a can of pop and a double-decker. I eventually came round enough to get back on and struggle the final 16 miles home.
It was slow going and even managed to get dropped by some hipster guy on a sit-up-and-beg pushing the pedals with the arches of his feet - grim.
I arrived home white as a sheet and quivering.
The moral of the story? Eat breakfast and don't try a fuel your ride on grapes alone.
Ride safe.