See No Evil...

Aw feck, this is hard work.  There I was in the bedroom with the curtains drawn and all the lighting on, naked on all fours with my arse facing towards the built in wardrobe mirror.  With the not so large pedestal bathroom mirror on the floor by my left hand side.  Trying to check my arse through a pair of binoculars.  It's impossible!  I don't recommend it.  But woe is me, something is not right.  I can feel it, Dave.

The ride out yesterday was glorious.  Again south along the pastry (Sustrans route 65) towards Riccall.  Like this..

Bit of a snaky route but the plan was to time my arrival in Naburn for the meet with Max and Linda for lunch at approx 1pm.  

It felt safe to go to Riccall today cos for sure it was just too blimmin cold for any of the local doggers to be out on the prowl.  You know, bored middle aged housewives wandering the streets in their dressing gowns, arms out straight in front, limp wristed, hair in curlers, fag in the corner of their mouths, head cocked to the left, looking for their next victim.  Cocked!  Fnar!  Moaning that low moan only a Zombie can make.  Especially those who don't know how to fasten a dressing gown and so have accidentally exposed their bits to the razor sharp morning air.  

I'm greasing along recalling a conversation with South Side Mark from last year.  'Your bike seat is too high, Wayne', he said on the coast to coast leg into Scarborough last August.  Mark is a proper racing snake.  He must be right mustn't he?  So somewhere last September, whilst fitting 700x42c tyres to prep the bike for the winter riding, down went the seat.  A good inch and a half or so. 

Up until the end of December I've been riding my bike on this setting with my original 'slimline' Brooks B17 saddle fitted.  Felt strange.  Yes, perhaps my hips were rocking a little beforehand.  However, whilst Hairy Melon is now rock steady, I figure, going by the feel of it, that I must look like a Clown on a monkey bike, dragging my arse on the ground as I roamed around the Yorkshire veldt.

I persevered with the new seat position to firstly see if I could perhaps get on with it and secondly, to check that I would not be too embarrassed by the dog walker's laughter.  Sadly Brooks, my B17 'smoochy' leather saddle, has been getting a little too friendly with Hairy Melon again and has given her a not so nice love bite on that strip of no mans land between ma Boys and the arse hole next door.  Not too bad really, just a little peck of a thing but enough for me to fidget a lot when on the bike.  I need to find a solution other than just applying a load more bum cream.  Surely it's not the seat height that's wrong is it?  Mark's a racing snake isn't he?  He cannot be wrong when it comes to assessing a rider to bike set up can he?

I grabbed Brooks by his nuts and threw him out, and invited in his older brother, Monsieur B67, to take over.  He's a wide shouldered Frenchman with a much shorter tongue.  Yes, perhaps, he'll be a bit gentler than the previous lecherous sucker.  He might also bring some maturity to the back yard and perhaps be able to stop the dog and ma boys fighting in the playground.  Perhaps.

For the last 2 weeks I have persevered with him.  I need to get the miles in even at this time of the year if I intend to do John O Groats to Lands End (JOGLE) at the end of May.  But feck, I've had to stop again and again and again over multiple rides this year and get my spanners out.  His accent is all wrong.  So I'm continually adjusting his features.  'Monsieur B67, say yes please'.  'Wee silt vous play', says B67 in his bestest Yorkshire accent.  No no no that's not right.  So I move his nose up a bit, to the left a bit, down a bit, to the right a bit, flatten his cap a bit, and repeat until I finally got approximately the right reply.

There I was about 2 miles into the ride yesterday.  The sun was low, very low, strobing through the trees into my eyes.  When I first set off for sure I was dead slow, especially in the corners with my inside leg off the pedal in case I needed to catch myself as the whole bloody mess slipped sideways on the ice.  I hit a section of the pastry which was straight into the sun along a small cutting.  Could not see anything except for a fearsomely bright light shining through the blackness into my eyes.  I guess like being born all over again...

All of a sudden there's a crisp ripping sound like I'm breaking through a long thin sheet of glass.  I'm guessing a big puddle covered with a thin veneer of ice.  Yikes!  Hairy Melon took a big wide eyed intake of breath through her now puckered lips and in doing so gave B67, who was working hard practicing with his new accent, an immense snog on his chapped lips; only letting go with a *pop!* for fear of ripping her lips off when I stood up in the pedals. 

I had been feeling somewhat uncomfortable.  It's as though B67 had been gently tickling Hairy Melon in the playground, kissing at the edges of her non-love bite pot hole with his short tongue.  Ugh!  French men, eh?  Ever since September I had also felt down on leg power and was fed up cycling along with ma knees under my chin.  That's it.  I’ve had enough.  I cannot continue to ride like this.  Especially on days like today; and, continue to put up with the Mega Sore Arse dinosaur which had somehow materialised in my under garments.  Time to put things back to normal.  

Firstly I raised my saddle.  Then to help keep B67's short tongue away from the non-love bite until it heals I rotate him off-line - ever so slightly to the left.  Just enough to keep his tongue away from Hairy's unmentionables.  All done well before Riccall as there's no way I'd ever want to get my spanners out in that village.

Whilst playing with my bits another cyclist sped past with a cheery hello.  I had just finished tightening my nuts so t'was not long before I was back in the groove.  I'm away.  Hey, that's better!  Feels like the power has come back and know what, yep, I can hear B67 moaning with disappointment because his tongue just cannot reach Hairy's bits again!  Result!  

It didn't take too long to catch up with him.  We rode together for the next 6 miles or so into Riccall.  Two hot sweaty blokes on their bikes riding into Riccall?  Thank God the doggers weren't pre informed.  

Richard was a nice chatty possibly ex-racing snake type.  About my age I guess perhaps a little older on what looks to be a mountain bike, but with skinny tyres.  Anyway, turns out that he has also done LEJOG and JOGLE and NC500 etc, some as far back as the 1980's when he says it was a lot safer with quieter roads.  It's amazing how when two bikers get together the speed seems to go up, and up and before we know it we're in Riccall.  Mid village he says goodbye and turns into a back road which I know for sure is a dead end.  Hmmm.  He's been caught by the Zombies methinks.  How many times can a fish swim in the North Sea before landing in a trawler's net?  Hmmm.  

Anyway I push on.  Lunch in Naburn with Max and Linda at the York Marina cafe was very nice too.  Lovely day for it.  It's warmer for sure by now so we take the time to also visit Naburn Locks to check out the alternate cafe for future meets.  Then away home.  That was a jolly nice day out :-)

Something did not feel right all evening.  A funny tingle in the wrong place and as best I tried I just could not sit upright.  Needed to check something out but how on earth can I see that bit of my anatomy.  I'm a fat bloke with a big belly so there's no view over the bow.  I nearly snapped myself whilst peeking at a camera screen over my left hand shoulder, trying to get an in focus shot of the end of my old greek airport conveyor belt.  Nope, no combination of camera nor mirrors would work.  There is no way I'd introduce Hairy Melon to anyone and ask them to check her for me.  Has a face that only a mother could love.  So all was done through the art of, well I'll let you figure it out...

Hmmm,  looks like B67 had taken quite a dislike to Hairy after my final adjustment.  Perhaps she's not svelte enough for the old boy or she did something to upset him.  Perhaps farted in his face the dirty fecker.  Anyway it looked like he had smashed her in the kisser just as she was puckering up to liberally apply some lipstick.  Might have been bum cream thinking about it.  Poor girl.  A big red splat mark and a fat lip.  

So that's me grounded for a couple of days.  Saddle sores again.  Thanks Mark.   All that fannying around with my saddle and all that has happened is my knees are sore again and Hairy has now got a fat lip and two unwanted love bites on her neck.

Hmm I wonder.  Cyclesense is a bike shop innit.  Sorts problems out for bike riders don't they.  Gates carbon drive sprockets and belts for sure.  Only the mechanical stuff, or is it?  

I'll give them a call tomorrow.  To check if they can supply me with a replacement ring piece.  And the appropriate spanner to change it out.  

Ciao for now..