Fat Bloke on a Bike

You all know that I'm an idiot don't ya?  Well for sure I know it.  I'd be called a 'daft 'apeth' here in Yorkshire, that being the polite way of telling someone you know what kind of idiot they are.  On the scale of sub normal intelligence I always assumed that an imbecile or a moron was significantly worse than an idiot but apparently not.  You're doing folk a service if you call them an imbecile if they're truly an idiot.  There are many scales covering intelligence but I think that the Levine and Marks IQ scale from 1928 is colloquially the one most often used today.  As follows: IQ Range ("ratio IQ") IQ Classification 175 and over Precocious 150–174 Very superior 125–149 Superior 115–124 Very bright 105–114 Bright 95–104 Average 85–94 Dull 75–84 Borderline 50–74 Morons 25–49 Imbeciles 0–24 Idiots The more modern descriptions use 'defective' for anyone with an IQ less than 65.  That surely means I am a defective idiot.  And there...

*AAAARRRGGGHHH!!!!*  'Quick nurse!  Quickly!  Get the foreceps!  It's a breech birth!'  *Aaaarghh! Woo! Woo! Puff! Pant!*  'Don't stop pushing Mr Tyssen, you can do it!  Breathe!  Breathe!  C'mon now you little bugger, out you come'.   There we all were in pools of sweat.  I'm crouched on the toilet seat unable to use my now broken legs to reposition my half sunburnt carcass to help make the birth process any easier or faster.  With a *gnnnn!* I bit hard on my clenched fist rueing the day I decided to have long distance sex with my bike during a heatwave.   With a *FWUMP!* out it came.  It hit the porcelain like a rock hammer.  Oooh the little shit did have sharp edges.  What have I got?  Let me see please nurse, I begged.  Swaddled in toilet paper she handed it to me...  Looks like a London Brick Dappled Light with a few budgie seeds mixed in.  A gentle round of COVID type applause erupt...

Masham. Such an appropriate name for any place in this neck of the woods.     Little busty hillocks everywhere into Leyburn which have done a tremendous job in collaboration with my bike seat of mashing my testicles good and proper.     Both are now well travelled and knew what was coming so donned a pair of hard hats which donked together on every rotation of the pedals. Where the feck they got them from is anybody’s guess.   Marc the workshop manager responded to my ‘Huston we have a problem’ email last night about the head bearing which is awfully loose and wobbly after our negotiation of the rubble strewn moonscape across the top of the North York Moors. ‘Roger that fault..’ says he! ‘Mission control recommends you tighten yer nuts but take care not to crush em. Over and out…’  Testicles again? Not really.  Ma boys let out a phew and slumped back in their seats…  Well it felt like that…   So I got my spanner’s out and nipped the head bear...

The clothing has failed to dry so I start the day in wet cycling undershorts, poo, wet over shorts, yuck, wet socks, ugh, and wet tee shirt, ooh err… not really a problem.  At least it’s a fresh wetness and anyway it’ll all be wet with sweat within half an hour so stop complaining fattie… An easy start today cos it’s just 33 miles to Bedale so of course that meant I forgot to put my brain in gear.  I was half way along the mile long rough track from the farm / campsite before I looked down and let out a small oh feck cos I’d left my water bottles on the step outside the toilets.    Fecking idiot I mumble to mysen.    Turned around and there in a pawl of dust was one of the farm hands racing the rough track in his old Land Rover trying to catch up.    Oh did we laugh!    As I’ve said before I was born an idiot and things have only got worse.   Bad news though with the bike. No front brake any more.    Steep down hills ...

There’s a repetitive mechanical sound just outside the tent.  Like a pair of wooden shears working on the verdant dewey grass.  I stick my head out into bright low morning sunshine and come face to face with nature’s number 1 milk making machine.   First time I’ve ever sat and watched a cow at work. Not that I’m an expert but the junior school used to show us pictures of such beasts so this is a Gurnsey for sure.    Or was it a Jersey...    let’s say a channel island breed.    It’s also a thought that here I am sat at the other end of the process pouring semi skinned milk onto my porridge oats watching grass going in the factory front door. Mechanical is all I can say. Chomp chomp chomp then a slow raise of the tail and the remains of the day is ejected off the end of its personal Greek airport baggage conveyor belt.    At the same time it’s calf is plugged in on the teat performing a backwards waltz as mum mechanically ploughs on. ...

Last night I dreamt.  Again.  Of being in the countryside and speaking to some folk I did not know.  Who told me that a ring of gravitational equilibrium was descending towards the earth and would be at its lowest point just above out heads right about now.  I remember jumping into the air and becoming as light as a feather, momentarily floating about 6ft above the ground before gently settling back down to earth.   Then jumping harder and higher and finding a spot where I could permanently float over the ground.  Just before realising, like a minion having drunk the anti-gravity serum, that I was accelerating away from the Earth.  Caught in a lite breeze like a wayward balloon; grasping at the outermost limbs of a passing tree and just catching the tips of its new pale green growth and so bringing myself back down to Earth...   Then suddenly waking with my eyeball stuck to the pillow!  YEOW!  A horrid feeling having some of yer bits stu...

Personally I no longer have a bath.  Just a really good walk in shower with which I have sex after every sweaty bike ride.  Oooohhh, it does feel good!  Wet, hot and tingly!  No place though nowadays for my ducks.  Poor things.  No more soapy suds in which to soak.  Bubblebaths are no more.  Back pressed into hot and cold taps (yikes!) when perhaps sharing with other than a duck is now a distant memory.  Those long long soaks falling asleep whilst wearing a close fitting hot water jacket are no more... But let me tell you; I am so happy I took the bath out and installed a big walk in shower... :-) So as warned, here is the video of the North Yorkshire 200 ride out last month.  I didn't get to where I am today... er, sorry wrong blog entry.  Well, we did didn't we?  We made it back home safely?  Sadly the ride was cut short cos of the risk of thunderstorms across the North York Moors.  Nonetheless, a smashing 3 days. ...

Ok, ok let’s start off with a JOKE! Question : What’s round, brown and sticky? Answer : A stick! Lol! Hahahaha! 😂 Er.. maybe not…  I just needed to start this blog off with a small chuckle cos I've injured myself.  Again.  Do not read on if blood and damage to human appendages would upset you.  You have been warned... Now that the North Yorkshire 200 has been attempted my legs are fully strong and so over 40 mile per day rides out are quite regular and no real issue to do.  Me and the five bar gate go everywhere together.  As a road going combo we're pretty heavy man.  In fact I wouldn't rate the chances of the next tractor we run into as the crash damage caused by a fat bloke and five bar gate combo would be the hardest insurance claim to explain for sure.  Yes, yes, I am very heavy and so continue to have problems getting off the bog after a hard days riding.  But that little problem has normally gone by the start of the next day.  Th...