I AM the King of the Mountains. I am not making this up, either. It's right there, next to my name, and it even has a little golden crown next to it. I am thinking of buying a polka dot jersey to mark the occasion, just like the ones the best climbers ride in in the Tour de France.
Strava is to blame for this sudden elevation of my cycling status.
Strava is a computer programme which measures your cycling and running prowess, and if Strava says I am the King of the Mountains then that's exactly what I am.
I was in a bike shop when it happened.
The man behind the counter looked me in the eye and said quietly "This is going to change your life."
Then he slowly and carefully wrote those six fateful letters on the back of his business card and pushed it across the counter to me.
What could it be, I wondered? Some sort of performance-enhancing substance? A secret training routine passed down from cyclist to cyclist only on the back of business cards?
Strava is a thing you download on to your mobile phone.
When you set off on a bike ride or a run, you take your phone with you and you set the program going as you start off.
It then measures where you are going and how fast you are getting there.
Other programs are available, probably. I should say that just to stay on the right side of making this a blatant plug.
When you get home again you stop the program, then read and inwardly digest the results.
Your friends also read and inwardly digest them, because this program is for sharing, and there is no hiding place on the worldwide web.
But the fiendish thing about Strava is that it breaks your run/ride up into segments, and you don't even know it's doing it. When you come to look back at the route you have taken, the wiggly orange line on the map is broken now and then by a marker which signifies a segment.
You can then compare yourself to any other users of the same program who have ridden or run through that particular segment.
Usually this doesn't go well for me. I normally find myself about halfway down the list. If only eight users of the program have covered a particular segment, I find myself fourth or fifth and that doesn't feel too bad. But if 800 have done it, I will be about 400th, and that's not great.
Some segments are easier than others. Some are impossible. There is one in Torquay on which the top times and speeds look ridiculously fast and unattainable, until you look at the names next to the times and realise that the leaderboard is packed with professional bicycle racers who had their programs switched on during the Tour Series race around the seafront. No wonder I can't catch them.
But there is one segment on which I am currently the King of the Mountains. I am invincible. I am on top of the world. I am the fastest Strava user ever to have covered this particular piece of road, ever, in the entire history of Strava.
It's a short stretch of road with a slight incline to it. It's in a residential area and there are some times of the day when it simply wouldn't be safe to ride it at speed.
But I did it one evening when there was no traffic about and no children likely to dash off the pavements.
And although in cycling terms I thrashed it, I was still going well below the speed limit and considerably slower than most drivers would do it.
And I'm not going to tell you where it is, just in case you decide you want to go out and usurp me from my position of greatness.
Could you live with the guilt if you took my little golden crown away? Of, you could. OK then.
There is some debate at the moment about whether Strava is a good thing. Its critics say it encourages bike riders to go hell-for-chamois-leather in places where they should probably be behaving with a little more consideration.
It is true there are some segments created by riders which include traffic lights and busy junctions, although in fairness the website administrators do their best to remove and amend them wherever they can.
"Get out there, have fun and be safe," they say.
Some bright spark, for instance, set up a segment that went right through the centre of Paignton from the Torquay side to the Brixham side, traffic lights, pedestrian crossings and all. It was barmy, and the administrators soon had a word.
But out on the open road in the countryside it's a useful training aid.
You can, for instance, climb up from the Kingswear Higher Ferry slip to Hillhead and pit yourself against all those who have gone before in perfect safety. I'm about 400th on that one, by the way.
And out on Dartmoor you can slog up the climbs which bring a tear to your eye, then look in despair at how fast some previous Stravanauts have climbed them.
I think I am going well, spinning the gears like Chris Froome on an Alp or a Pyrenee, only to discover back in the comfort of my own home I appear to have been riding like Granville on Arkwright's delivery bike.
But for the moment at least, I am the King of my very own Mountain at a secret location somewhere in Paignton.
I may even go and try to climb it even faster one of these cool evenings, just to set the bar a little higher before someone younger and faster comes along and takes my title away.