28th August 2013
There can be no finer place to practise for the Jennings Rivers Ride than West Cumbria. I pose that as an hypothetical statement as I’ve done no practise for the Jennings Rivers Ride. However, if I had, I am sure that West Cumbria would be the place to do it. I am a complex man and every time my wife urges me to get out on the bike and practise I find anything (and I mean anything) to distract me from that task. Instead of being a wiry, muscular cyclist I am now the proud owner of some bedding boxes manufactured from some old decking, a sandstone wishing well, half a chicken coop and a 1989 2 berth caravan that I’m doing up as a garden office. These things will not enable me to get up hills any faster in September but my joinery skills are improving and the caravan has a drinks cabinet.
I do tell a little lie – I’ve done a little bit of cycling, however it was cut cruelly short by stupidity and injury. In the next enthralling episode of ‘Injuries of the Daft and Dangerous’ ( I’m soon to have my own show on Sky Living) I can exclusively reveal that it involves the coming together of my, how should I put this, undercarriage and the crossbar of the Giant Defy that you can now find wedged up a tree near Maryport.
Most of my extensive sports injuries come about through the use of cleats on my cycling shoes and the pedal. Experienced cyclists will probably laugh but as I don’t cycle anywhere near enough I seem to spend far too much time trying to align the bottom of my foot with a 1cm clicky target (sorry for getting technical) on the pedal (whatever happened to big pedals with reflectors the size of a Snickers on them?) As usual I’d cycled about 8 miles without seeing a soul. As soon as I tried to re-attach myself to the bike after an emergency Cornish Pasty break the whole population of Maryport magically came out to stare in my direction as I remounted. Wanting to look cool and start powerfully I pressed my foot down hard and as my foot slipped off the pedal I landed on the crossbar . Obviously I swore like a trooper with a particularly bad problem with profanity. The lady who had just chucked a bottle of Vimto and cigarette stump to the floor whilst her dog had a poo in the middle of the cycle track found my language and behaviour appalling (she’d obviously never reached the definition of irony in the dictionary) and told me so. I think it was a lady as I couldn’t see through my tear streaked eyes. So from now on I shall be known as Vera and spend my leisure time as backing singer in a Bee Gees tribute band.
So not that much to report this month. However as a nutrition guru, I do sometimes like to share my extensive research with you prior to submitting my dissertation for my Doctorate. The chapter I am currently working on is about the benefits of a balanced diet. As you can see from the attached picture I have found that a trio of real ale balances out very nicely with two pork pies and a pot of brown sauce.
Until the next time I don’t go out on my bike….