NC500 - A Moanin in the Gloamin
'So tell me...' says London Alan after pensively thinking about it, '..why is it that Human Beings do all manner of stretching just before embarking on some serious exercise yet Lions do not a jot just before a hunt and a mad sprint to catch their evening meal?' There I was, pulling my socks on which cos of the size of my belly gives me a right good stretch of the quads, hamstrings and glutes thinking, yeah, he's got a point. Why don't they.
Whichever way we argued it there was no scenario where a Human would exert more explosive energy than a Lion at full trot with the smell of Zebra in its nostrils. I pulled up my pants which gave my shoulders a nice little shrug workout and said, 'yeah I think you've got a valid point London Al. Perhaps we should just do as Lions do?', as I finished my mid-drift twists trying to capture the flayling camera battery lead hanging out of my rear cycling jacket pocket....
And we're off. Today's route took us south towards Fort William along the banks of the Caledonian canal. However, about a third of it is into the mountains following forestry tracks. I'm surprised just how rough some sections are with flashbacks to the mad tripod ride across sections of the North York Moors last week. Hey I'm an off road God so no problems!
Well I thought so just up to the point where an older (can't say old anymore cos thats me too..) couple were holding a gate open for us with a mad rock scree descent immediately after it. The older lady held the gate invitingly open whilst the older gent looked up at me from the bottom of the slope and as though encouraging a young puppy shouted 'come on then, come on...'. And down I went, white knuckled on the handlebars. I spotted the only big rock for miles, became transfixed on it, and hit it whilst my locked back wheel slid down the mini scree slope. I thought I managed to fake my off road credentials rather well but I expect from my initial tentative looks the old boy saw right though this particular faux fat man.
Funny, that 'tentative' word has just reminded me of Pete Cullingworth, an ex manager of mine back in the 90's; a West Yorkshire lad with a broad accent who used to always say words like 'tentetatatively', akin to the rather stuttery Arkwright in Open All Hours.
Anyway the rough riding was hard on our bits as well as legs cos the steep bits of the track resembled scree slopes, again painted on cliff faces, this time without traction. Nonetheless up we went. Beautiful route but the wrong bikes...
Yay, we're off the hard trail and back on the canal path. Into a stiff breeze. Its effect was akin to riding uphill again; as though someone had taken a panoramic picture of the canal and path for us to ride upon and tipped it up several degrees. Legs were dead / dying. Speed was down to eight mph. Of course we saw many cyclists freewheeling in the opposite direction down wind. I gave a polite smile back to the young lady on the back of the tandem with the wide beamy grin on her face. London Alan saw her too and by now was ready to push her, him, the bike, and every god damn one of them into the canal. 'Smiley feckers ' he says as he grinds along...
We arrive via the back door into Fort William and see none of it other than the mens toiletries, biscuits and cafe (priorities 1, 2 and 3) in its one and only Morrison's store and then the station platforms 1 and 2 next door. It's great to see a steam train pull in at platform 2 taking folk to Mallaig. We're not far behind on the 1620 train, passing through beautiful if sadly cloud covered scenery on the normal service to Mallaig. It'd be stunning on a sunny day.
This evening me and London Alan watch the clown arm of international rescue try to pull a truck back to dry land cos the equivalent laughable event of the truck doing the splits betwixt the ferry and land as the boat zipped away from the loading ramp cos it wasn't tied up. And then watching several cable breakages as a cherry picker and a fork lift truck try hard in tandem and without grins to pull it by its waist belt back on to terra firma.
It's getting dark. We're in a fish restaurant. London Alan watches me demolish a small mountain of bread like watching the cookie monster delving in to his most favourite chocolate chip on a very hungry day. And we start to moan about the ride. A lot. This truly is the start of the holiday :-)
I get back to my hotel room. It's nice. I've only had one beer. I put the TV on and attempt to sit on the edge of the bed only to quickly discover with arms a flaying that it's on castors on a polished floor.
Inspector Clouseau couldn't have done a better job of it.
Nite..
Whichever way we argued it there was no scenario where a Human would exert more explosive energy than a Lion at full trot with the smell of Zebra in its nostrils. I pulled up my pants which gave my shoulders a nice little shrug workout and said, 'yeah I think you've got a valid point London Al. Perhaps we should just do as Lions do?', as I finished my mid-drift twists trying to capture the flayling camera battery lead hanging out of my rear cycling jacket pocket....
And we're off. Today's route took us south towards Fort William along the banks of the Caledonian canal. However, about a third of it is into the mountains following forestry tracks. I'm surprised just how rough some sections are with flashbacks to the mad tripod ride across sections of the North York Moors last week. Hey I'm an off road God so no problems!
Well I thought so just up to the point where an older (can't say old anymore cos thats me too..) couple were holding a gate open for us with a mad rock scree descent immediately after it. The older lady held the gate invitingly open whilst the older gent looked up at me from the bottom of the slope and as though encouraging a young puppy shouted 'come on then, come on...'. And down I went, white knuckled on the handlebars. I spotted the only big rock for miles, became transfixed on it, and hit it whilst my locked back wheel slid down the mini scree slope. I thought I managed to fake my off road credentials rather well but I expect from my initial tentative looks the old boy saw right though this particular faux fat man.
Funny, that 'tentative' word has just reminded me of Pete Cullingworth, an ex manager of mine back in the 90's; a West Yorkshire lad with a broad accent who used to always say words like 'tentetatatively', akin to the rather stuttery Arkwright in Open All Hours.
Anyway the rough riding was hard on our bits as well as legs cos the steep bits of the track resembled scree slopes, again painted on cliff faces, this time without traction. Nonetheless up we went. Beautiful route but the wrong bikes...
Yay, we're off the hard trail and back on the canal path. Into a stiff breeze. Its effect was akin to riding uphill again; as though someone had taken a panoramic picture of the canal and path for us to ride upon and tipped it up several degrees. Legs were dead / dying. Speed was down to eight mph. Of course we saw many cyclists freewheeling in the opposite direction down wind. I gave a polite smile back to the young lady on the back of the tandem with the wide beamy grin on her face. London Alan saw her too and by now was ready to push her, him, the bike, and every god damn one of them into the canal. 'Smiley feckers ' he says as he grinds along...
We arrive via the back door into Fort William and see none of it other than the mens toiletries, biscuits and cafe (priorities 1, 2 and 3) in its one and only Morrison's store and then the station platforms 1 and 2 next door. It's great to see a steam train pull in at platform 2 taking folk to Mallaig. We're not far behind on the 1620 train, passing through beautiful if sadly cloud covered scenery on the normal service to Mallaig. It'd be stunning on a sunny day.
This evening me and London Alan watch the clown arm of international rescue try to pull a truck back to dry land cos the equivalent laughable event of the truck doing the splits betwixt the ferry and land as the boat zipped away from the loading ramp cos it wasn't tied up. And then watching several cable breakages as a cherry picker and a fork lift truck try hard in tandem and without grins to pull it by its waist belt back on to terra firma.
It's getting dark. We're in a fish restaurant. London Alan watches me demolish a small mountain of bread like watching the cookie monster delving in to his most favourite chocolate chip on a very hungry day. And we start to moan about the ride. A lot. This truly is the start of the holiday :-)
I get back to my hotel room. It's nice. I've only had one beer. I put the TV on and attempt to sit on the edge of the bed only to quickly discover with arms a flaying that it's on castors on a polished floor.
Inspector Clouseau couldn't have done a better job of it.
Nite..
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