LEJOG - It's a Knobbly Knees Competition

I've already introduced you to Ma Boy.  He's my right knee and has an awful habit, like a child, to cry out for attention exactly at a time you don't expect to hear a peep from him.  Whilst he tends to hide and be quiet during adult type manoeuvres, like reversing and hitching up to a trailer, he does tend to knobble me at most other times.

Breakfast today was much better in that it turned out to be the poached eggs and beans and wholemeal toast ensemble now that Kathryn had arrived.  A couple of "really!"'s were expressed by some of the guests when they found out what this particularly fat blob on wheels was attempting to do followed by a hopeful, "well, good luck"...  Also too many "well done!"'s being expressed to which I had to politely say that I had not done it yet... The B&B host hoped I really took care not to kill myself which I promised to do (take care that is, not kill)..

Audrey II was muttering '...feed me, feed me...' most of the day.  I have found that by simply throwing cheese and ham sandwiches at her faster than she can chuck the remains out the back door  keeps her sedated.  Although the resulting carbo wind now has her thinking she might just learn to play the trumpet.

Today was cool and overcast.  Similar to yesterday with plenty of low cloud and a stiff breeze into my face.  Shreddie shredding winds blew from the north along the Penzance seafront.  I now love the wind and so a few gears down off I went on Sustrans route 3 onto a section of seafront resembling inverted Belgian cobbled pave.  Easy!  Hah, I flick my finger in the face of Le Tour Racing Snakes!

I was soon lost again in the hills on narrow back lanes with high hedges which promised to result in a wipe out should a scrumpy fed driver try to take a back road route to work to avoid the rozzers (1).  Easy to start with 'cept for a short sharp climb just outside of St Erth. I'm stood up in the pedals. Legs felt great as I powered up the climb.  Over the top and as I settled down back onto the saddle a new ache began to grow.

Ma Boy was getting used to this routine.  He decided again to stay in bed under the covers and just to let me get on with it.  Seems like too much hassle for him to complain cos I wasn't going to stop.  However, his twin sister, er, Our Lass, opened her bedroom door and stood there seething for a minute or two before she slammed the door shut so hard that she left the door frame ringing.

Agh, feck, where did she come from?  Ma Boy has a twin?  A big nasty hairy one by the looks and whilst she does not say a lot she has a right fist Frank Bruno would be proud of.   And this is just the start of the first main leg.  I end up one leg oaring the bike up the local hills waiting for the door frame of an ache to subside.  And thank God it did.  15 minutes or so later it was gone.  Where she has gone God also knows (I must speak to God more often) but she can bloody stay there..

Sustrans route 3 route planners must have been on drugs the day they decided to plan route 3 from Penzance to Truro.  There were some nice bits.  But why would anyone unless they were giggling their tits off decide to plant a blue and white number 3 sign that points skyward up a rather steep terraced hill just to avoid a small town road, which OK, was a little bit busy but still had a 30 MPH restriction and was safe for bikes.

Ulp! Lowest gear selected again and up I went.  Push push push.. Atop the grade after approx 200 meters was another blue and white number 3 pointing to the left and a further 20 meters or so was another number 3... pointing to the left... and down I went in exactly the opposite way to which I went up.  Back onto the bloody road I had just been instructed to avoid - another 50 or so meters along it.  Oh how I didn't larf.  I blew out more angry feathers than an angry bird might on the same carbo loaded diet.

Here I am in Redruth after fuelling Audrey II with chilli and chips..

The great news was that the kids were nowhere to be seen.  There does seem to be a bit of a 'feck!' moment in their lives each time they see a grade and both promptly hide, under his covers / her hairy duvet.  Nonetheless I'm gonna keep feeding them the ibuprofen flavoured gripe water in the pizza's I slide under their bedroom doors.

Thank God they did remain quiet for the rest of the day for this land is covered in huge pimple shaped steep hills.  Route 3 has taken me on a sojourn around the lot of them (yes I imagine the druggie planner giggling uncontrollably whilst holding a gas and air mask in one hand and a blue crayon in the other as he scribbles route 3 on a map of Cornwall).

Garrowby hill, an infamous hill back home for causing some cyclists and my dads old Hillman Imp to blow up, must had had a holiday down here and got friendly with the local hilly bits and spread his wild boulders about a bit.  Cos the countryside is smothered with baby mountains.  And I cannot get my unused German crampons on my German Schwalble bike tyres as hard as I might try.

Kathryn has just stopped zzzzing so its time for me to put my virtual pen down and get carbo loading.  She's a brave lass.  Its an old spring frame bed and her first words to me were "this bed is no good for rumpy pumpy!"  Er yeah.  A horrible thought that me and her might end up Clouseau style crashing through the bed frame and with it, through the floor into the dining room below.   It'd kinda put the other guests off their porridge....

Anyway one final thing to say about Ma Boy and Our Lass.  I don't remember ever having any kids.  Where the hell have these two come from?  When I get home, Smokey and the Bandit style, I'm gonna punch their momma right in the mouth.

(1) Rozzers.  Police.  Coppers.  The Old Bill.  Are toothless but have a nasty suck.  Are a rarity in the UK nowadays.

ps. in the next day or so I'll forgo some of the wordy stuff and spend time publishing some video.