I love you!

What is it with me and route planning?  I may moan about the Garmin crap nav - a lot - but methinks I'm at least as much to blame.  

I accidentally did 40 miles yesterday.  A planned 32 miler ended up being 40 cos my addled brain somehow managed to add the outbound leg of one loop to an inbound leg of another which meant an extended cross country ride to join them together.  

Two thirds of the ride was into a headwind.  I love the wind.  About halfway out after pressing on into a nor-easterly I stopped for a rest and broke into my emergency packet of crisps and a couple of pieces of shortbread with a bottle of coke taken intravenously.  I have a lah-de-dah gunner Graham moment and let my mind drift with the shite hawks amongst the manure piles whilst sat on a bench at the Sand Hutton War Memorial [Jeez! Bork!  What are they feeding to cows nowadays?].

Ah yes, the first 10 or 12 miles were quite uneventful really.  Not a lot of snakes out today.  Nonetheless, I was overtaken initially by a deaf, dumb and probably blind fecker dressed, yeah, all in black in the village of Stockton on the Forest.  

What is it with this black thing?  There I am dressed up in a dazzling day glow yellow and red combo with bright flashy lights front and rear and so have the best ever excuse hossifer should I ever get splatted whilst out on a ride.  The snake's invisible.  His camouflage works so well on these grey wind torn roads today.  Black just melds with the bare earth and leafless hedgerows.  Fecking idiot.  For sure soon to become fantastical road kill just as the tractor driver shouts 'oh shit!' as he splats him with his big rubber wheels or impales him on his tank destroying attachment at the back end (any attachment - they're all fecking dangerous).

One of the best things I've done is to attach a rear view mirror to the bike.  I took it off for a few weeks last year after messing about with my attachments, fnar! - careful now, and realised just how often I was using it cos of the number of times I looked down through the hole it had left to the road below.  

I'm still headwind bound on the long straight out of Stockton and spot a distant flash in my rear view.  About a quarter of a mile back.  It's another snake.  A faulty one for sure cos this one has accidentally attached some lights to its bike.  Well mate your not gonna overtake me says I so with a slight grimace and a squeak I tense my thighs and speed up.  

Aw feck, Wayne.  Why are you doing this?  You've noted on a number of occasions how you're not a snake so why put your 58 year old knees under so much pressure.  Anyway it's gonna catch you when you reach the punchy 'ball breaker' climb just outside of Gate Helmsley isn't it?

I'm at the bottom of the hill.  The snake is continuing to hunt me but no he's not reached me and probably will not beat me to the top of the climb.  I've got legs that have been trained by the SAS on both the LEJOG and NC500 rides, both of which are all fecking uphill anyway so I snick down two gears and stand up in the pedals and power on half expecting the slimy fecker to slither past me in the steep section...

But no - I get to the top and spy the snake still a little behind me.  It's not caught me!  I press on.  There's still a gradual climb into the next village.  I look back and - yeah - he's dropping back.  I think the fecker's gone 'pop!' trying to catch me and is now completely done-in as a result of the chase up the hill.  YAY!  Fat fecker on a five bar gate with tractor tyres - 1. Dead snake on a razor - 0!

No, I don't want to ride like this all day.  It's no fun.  There's a gentle down hill section coming up and so I decide to serenely glide down it and it is here that the slithery critter slips past.  Hi!  Hello.  Nice day innit says I with no trouble breathing at all.  Not a fecking word from the snake who has his tongue out and a 1000 yard stare into the vanishing point in the distance.  

Yeah, I know what's going on.  He's lost in his peloton thoughts.  He's riding in the Tour de France with its imagery flashing bright onto the back of his strained eyeballs.  Neva mind.  What a crap ride out he must be having.  Where did you go today says his wife.  'Dunno..'.  Did you meet anyone she asks in hope that he might one day find a friend...  '- No..'

Anyway I think I did him in cos a mile or so up the road he had stopped and was pretending to look at his crap nav [hope it's a better one than mine] as he gently pressed his eyeballs back into their sockets and teased his testicles back out into the daylight.  

I now get to see the snake resplendent in all it's blackness.  This one has a little podge.  From the tummy down he's shaped like a champagne cork with something 'orrid parked on top of it.  I know he's faking a map check as there's only one road out of the village...  Hmmm, poor thing...

Anyway I thought the stuff I'd eaten would give me energy.  Think about it.  Crisps are all carbohydrate, fats and salts aren't they?; and, diet coke has an electrolytic balance as strong as battery acid that's good enough for medics to use on folk who are seriously dead.  Perhaps.  But not for me.  

There I am riding up another very short and not so punchy hill and all of a sudden it's like someone has just flipped the light switch off.  I've lost my legs!  Where the feck have they gone??  The next few miles into the gentle headwind feel crap.  The squeeze has gone.  Someone has popped my thighs!  I prey for some more downhill sections  but everything is up today.  I'm skirting along the bottom of the Wolds much as I did with mum as a 3 year old mithering her like a pup looking for something to eat.

But then out of nowhere - THEY'RE BACK!  Fuelling was delayed.  Audrey II must've been playing with it before she decided to choff it and yes, Arnold's back with a Vengeance.  No not Bruce Willis - Arnold.  You know? Mr Shorts and Legger!) 

It's a nice cruise north west towards Huby following a 415kv power line which hums a pleasant tune to me as we cycle along together.  I pick up a back lane south towards York.  I suspect not many folk know about this lane.  Its a lovely flowing ride with a tailwind gently caressing my testicles which are trying to get comfortable so are now hanging like a pair of hairy saddle bags off the back of my seat.   

The final leg of the ride brings me back down the A19 on a combo cyclist / pedestrian path.  Up ahead someone is walking towards me.  All of a sudden giving me big waves.  I sail past and all I can see is a pair of jeans, a coat, a hood and a big face mask... So I stop and shout back 'hello do you know me?'

The young thing walks back.  He's got bright blue eyes and small black curls or hair protruding from under his hood.  'Elo' he says. 'Eye am frem E-ran!'.  'Eh?  You're from where?' And this time with energy and a smile in his eyes he says 'Frem E-ran!  E-RAN!!!  I LOVE YOU!!!'

Oh dear.  'Thank you' says I and quickly set off as he waves me an enthusiastic goodbye!  Then I realise, the 4 star Mercure hotel just outside of York on the A19 is being used to house asylum seekers including folk from IRAN.  Lucky feckers!

Oh dear.  'Of all the people in all the world...' I find myself muttering this under my breath like a seriously frustrated Bogey.  He's not a she!  Aw feck.  There's somewhere around 7.9 billion people out there, half of them women for sure, one of whom must love me.  Surely there MUST be one in 3.9 billion mustn't there?  The odds must be great in my favour mustn't they?  Trust me to bump into the wrong sex.  

I'm nearly home.  Today's ride has been longer than expected.  The crap nav tells me so.  Also my right knee, you know, Ma Boy, has momentarily popped back home with a skip load of rubble which for unknown reasons he is now playing with inside his bedroom.  Thinking about it I should have bought him lego as a child.  But also cos my testicles are now loudly singing 'O Sole Mio!' at the top of their voices.  I know they're tired and want to go home.  

Here's a video of me and my complaining testicles.  Fancy a Cornetto ice cream anyone?

I used to have a dog with a sweet tooth that loved men, especially Italian men.  And eating ice cream.  Especially Italian ice cream.  There was nothing worse than watching her lick the nuts off a large Neapolitan...

I get home.  Not too bad Wayne for today.  My arse feels sore.  For sure the ride has plucked all the remaining hairs from my bum.  I take my cycle shorts off and turn them inside out and to all intents and purposes they look like they've grown a beard.  And attempted to eat Cadbury's milk chocolate and drink Lucozade straight after a visit to the dentist for root canal work by the looks of it...  Ooohh, get them in the washing machine quick!

Some recollections from the ride...  

1. Irrespective of the ride I'm always amazed just how fast 3 and a bit hours fly by... 

2. When I get a spurt on, especially when being chased by a snake, I no longer feel the wind; and,

3. It's amazing who one might meet when out and about and the comments that one might get.  

Hmmm, he loves me huh..?  Nah, I don't think so....  

He's not seen the inside of my shorts....  

Ciao for now...