AD sent me a text: "Have to be back 12ish"
"Tosser" thought I. How dare he limit a ride!
But really all it did was condense our usual meanderings into a proper good ride.
Where did we go, what did we do I hear you Dear Reader ask. Well a big circle really. Top of Reigate Hill, down to the golf course, Headley, Secret Singletrack, Stane Street, Box Hill, Headley again, chalk path. I got a front puncture from some Hawthorn, and, er, that was it.
There are some clean lines developing out there in the thicker muddy sections, but for the main there was a lot of light, wet sloppy mud. We got plastered with the stuff. Luckily there were no Dog Eggs about, although quite a few nice people have been depositing said poo in little coloured bags and leaving them everywhere. These people really are C***s aren't they? Sorry to be offensive, but they are.
Moving on.
I let AD lead on Secret Singletrack but he knew not where he was going and overshot every turn. This flumoxed him so much that on Stane Street he refused to get ahead for fear of a sudden "left" being shouted at him in a sarcastic manner. So today I was in front going down there and he got to see my more eccentric line choices. We flew down at rather silly speeds it must be said, and apologies to the two walkers that I didn't slow for. At the bottom he commented that I seemed to have an attraction for the rough stuff, and that I was possibly going a bit fast, slightly out of control. Considering he was right on my tail all the way down, then he too must have been hacking it - and following that close you are also by definition "on the edge" as you don't have much time to react to what the guy in front does. Anyway, I like that bit of trail; it's fun. Today I just kept well clear of my brakes is all. And my line choice? I just couldn't see where I was going - my eyes were watering so much that it was all a blur. Luckily the chalk held onto my tyres.
As stated, reckless.
The climb up Box Hill was horrid as usual but AD decided it was time to chat all the way up. Luckily he'd got ahead so didn't see me spitting up bits of lung. At the top I pretended not to be out of breath, as you do, but the steam coming off me gave the game away.
Now. Roadies. Have you not heard of the word 'style' at all? To a man today every single one of them looked a right twat. Overshoes and tighty white shorts do not look good at all. One guy had clearly shoved a pair of socks down the front of his shorts. No way has anybody got Man Bits as big as he was suggesting. Think rugby ball and you'd be there. Yet there he was, all chicken legs, white shorts and silly overshoes.
The ride back was uneventful apart from AD being on a mission to get back. Whatever lungy, phlegmy bits I'd not coughed up over at Box Hill certainly came up now. And at Colley Hill the chalk path was there for the taking. I wanted to do it as fast as AD did but for some reason I got distracted half way down by the view. It was only for a few seconds, perhaps not even that, the merest "Oh isn't that nice!" type thing, but it was enough for AD to gain 10m or 15m on me, and enough to make it look as though I wasn't trying. If only that hill was longer. It's such fun and I'd love to hit it on a susser.
Oh and the Hawthorn puncture took five seconds to fix thanks to tubeless tech.
Our chat was rather interesting. I'd found out in the week about, well let's just say a scheme for working for the Government on oodles of money. I may be doing it, but as an employee so lacking the oodles bit. AD put me right by pointing out essentially that why would the government want to employ a useless, lazy good for nothing twat like me? Fair point, and well said. But I got him back. He went into a rant about how he'd tackle terrorists, as you do, if he ever got into a situation where hostages were being taken. It was all rather gung ho involving mutilated body parts, and a lot of screaming from said bad people; such screaming being the result of his fearless defence of the situation. My rather germaine point being that he wasn't actually trained in counter terrorism and that he'd probably freeze and go into a blind panic like most normal people would. He'll certainly not go to bed dreaming about being 007 again, that's for sure!
Post ride I took the kids out for a big cake and crisps as I was so contended with life. They are now on a sugar rush. Life doesn't get any better does it?
"Tosser" thought I. How dare he limit a ride!
But really all it did was condense our usual meanderings into a proper good ride.
Where did we go, what did we do I hear you Dear Reader ask. Well a big circle really. Top of Reigate Hill, down to the golf course, Headley, Secret Singletrack, Stane Street, Box Hill, Headley again, chalk path. I got a front puncture from some Hawthorn, and, er, that was it.
There are some clean lines developing out there in the thicker muddy sections, but for the main there was a lot of light, wet sloppy mud. We got plastered with the stuff. Luckily there were no Dog Eggs about, although quite a few nice people have been depositing said poo in little coloured bags and leaving them everywhere. These people really are C***s aren't they? Sorry to be offensive, but they are.
Moving on.
I let AD lead on Secret Singletrack but he knew not where he was going and overshot every turn. This flumoxed him so much that on Stane Street he refused to get ahead for fear of a sudden "left" being shouted at him in a sarcastic manner. So today I was in front going down there and he got to see my more eccentric line choices. We flew down at rather silly speeds it must be said, and apologies to the two walkers that I didn't slow for. At the bottom he commented that I seemed to have an attraction for the rough stuff, and that I was possibly going a bit fast, slightly out of control. Considering he was right on my tail all the way down, then he too must have been hacking it - and following that close you are also by definition "on the edge" as you don't have much time to react to what the guy in front does. Anyway, I like that bit of trail; it's fun. Today I just kept well clear of my brakes is all. And my line choice? I just couldn't see where I was going - my eyes were watering so much that it was all a blur. Luckily the chalk held onto my tyres.
As stated, reckless.
The climb up Box Hill was horrid as usual but AD decided it was time to chat all the way up. Luckily he'd got ahead so didn't see me spitting up bits of lung. At the top I pretended not to be out of breath, as you do, but the steam coming off me gave the game away.
Now. Roadies. Have you not heard of the word 'style' at all? To a man today every single one of them looked a right twat. Overshoes and tighty white shorts do not look good at all. One guy had clearly shoved a pair of socks down the front of his shorts. No way has anybody got Man Bits as big as he was suggesting. Think rugby ball and you'd be there. Yet there he was, all chicken legs, white shorts and silly overshoes.
The ride back was uneventful apart from AD being on a mission to get back. Whatever lungy, phlegmy bits I'd not coughed up over at Box Hill certainly came up now. And at Colley Hill the chalk path was there for the taking. I wanted to do it as fast as AD did but for some reason I got distracted half way down by the view. It was only for a few seconds, perhaps not even that, the merest "Oh isn't that nice!" type thing, but it was enough for AD to gain 10m or 15m on me, and enough to make it look as though I wasn't trying. If only that hill was longer. It's such fun and I'd love to hit it on a susser.
Oh and the Hawthorn puncture took five seconds to fix thanks to tubeless tech.
Our chat was rather interesting. I'd found out in the week about, well let's just say a scheme for working for the Government on oodles of money. I may be doing it, but as an employee so lacking the oodles bit. AD put me right by pointing out essentially that why would the government want to employ a useless, lazy good for nothing twat like me? Fair point, and well said. But I got him back. He went into a rant about how he'd tackle terrorists, as you do, if he ever got into a situation where hostages were being taken. It was all rather gung ho involving mutilated body parts, and a lot of screaming from said bad people; such screaming being the result of his fearless defence of the situation. My rather germaine point being that he wasn't actually trained in counter terrorism and that he'd probably freeze and go into a blind panic like most normal people would. He'll certainly not go to bed dreaming about being 007 again, that's for sure!
Post ride I took the kids out for a big cake and crisps as I was so contended with life. They are now on a sugar rush. Life doesn't get any better does it?
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