Racing Snakes!

I scoot through a wooded section at the base of the Yorkshire Wolds with the wind in my willows and the stroboscopic sun in my eyes.  My attention is drawn down to the new growth that is emergent in the most protected corners of the land.  I awake from my deep thoughts of the coming summer days; that cycling whilst asleep moment, and suddenly notice that there's a deep rumble with a low creaking and cracking all around me.  Almost imperceptibly the earth stirs beneath my wheels as they cut through the chocolate sponge cake mix of mud and seeds that's about to be gently placed into a springtime oven.  

An important event is about to unfold before our very eyes.  It's the sound and smell of the land, as though watching a giant turning in a half wakeful moment from a great sleep.  Thrusting his strong fingertips up through the heavy black blanket of last autumns canopy of life which has lain across his back keeping him protected whilst the sun and earth danced through the cold dark infinities at the outer edge of the solar-system.  The snowdrops tell me he is awakening, encouraged to open his eyes by the ever increasing rays radiating from the Sun as it gradually climbs up off the blackened horizon bringing light and warmth once again to the world.  

It's a time that should put wonder and awe into everyones life.  For me it did.  Made me wonder, 'Aw! who the feck told me that a spring time exploratory ride along a bridleway the same day as I change from my wider winter tyres to slimmer summer tyres was a good idea!?'. Hmmm. Idiot..

Nonetheless, the new springtime growth has the same effect with me every year. A sense of rebirth and newness. It's not just me and the gardeners now itching to get our hands on our implements and get merry with the world. No, there are others too. Itching to chat about rebirth whilst using other such wonderful nouns and verbs with everyone on this planet. 'Cept the Americans of course to whom having a decent cup of coffee is always AWESOME!  No it's fecking not.

Nor is it for Vlad the Mad, a man who for sure wakes every morning to the smell of freshly cut red roses.  Which results in exactly the same stone like yet mildly inquisitive expression on his face as does the smell of butchered meat at the abattoir.

For a few the beauty of life is beyond them.  It does not matter how anyone might ever try to talk to their sense of morality and the fragility of life.  You might as well just shout into a vacuum.  

Psychotic people display the following traits:

• socially irresponsible behaviours
• disregarding or violating the rights of others
• inability to distinguish between right and wrong
• difficulty with showing remorse or empathy
• tendency to lie often
• manipulating and hurting others
• recurring problems with the law 
• general disregard towards safety and responsibility

Reminds you of anyone does it? He ticks all the boxes doesn't he? If it's not the man I'm thinking of then you have a real problem! 

Putin's a man wrapped in a dystopian mix of behaviours that have formed a deep thickened leathery crust over his gross scaly body.  A Fagin like grimy overcoat that to date has shielded the world from the monstrous insect that has for the last 70 years gorged itself on the soft underbelly of human life.  A parasitic larva which this spring has finally erupted from the land.  It is covered in thorns and spikes; and, if allowed to, will quickly travel across the earth and smother everything just before erupting a huge black flower from the top of his head, fragrant with the rotten smell of grey fetid meat and death.. There isn't an insecticide, fungicide, herbicide nor genocide out there that's too unpleasant for him.  Nuff said.

Today though has been yet another ride out.  I'm now up to over 100 miles per week and counting.  Almost imperceptibly my legs have come back to me. Like a chastened dog with its waggy tail between its hind quarters they've cowered and crawled back under my carcass asking for my forgiveness for the bone hard days cycling they suffered me this winter. Yes of course. I embrace them with open legs knowing that together this is going to be a great year for cycling.

Some of the racing snakes are out of the egg too.  The hardy ones that is, and the older ones that have had to continue to ride during winter for fear of falling off the back of the summer peloton cos they've aged markedly over the last few years.  Whilst the lanes are brighter, there's still a fair coolness in the air that could still freeze the testicles off many an unprepared snake.  Especially if it accidentally caught itself out by having a long yawning stretch in the open air without its lycra fleece lined pants on.

I have written before about racing snakes and the variety of iridescent types and shapes out there.  Now whether its just that they're fresh out of the egg or are one legged types; or, it's because I have done unto myself a combo of winter training and magnetic cyclic sex games, my legs right now do feel good and I do scoot along chasing snakes with them.  Ma Boy and our lass have stopped complaining cos for sure they know what's coming towards them in June and that any amount of moaning won't make a fecking ha'pennys worth of difference.  It didn’t in 2018 when we did LEJOG together. Also the newly lined underpants seem to be keeping hairy, ma boys and the dog's complaints somewhat muffled.

Finally, the day came where I could take Dawes out for a proper ride in the countryside.  With a naughty but nice look back at me across her shoulders, we're off! 

So, what is it about racing snakes?  No I'm not talking about racing snakes.  I'm talking about racing snakes!  Yes, I've been racing snakes!  Racing is not only a NOUN you know!  No, this time it's a VERB!  

There I was, a man with the mass of a small black hole riding my MILF of a bike pressing along back country lanes with a VOOM!  Where the feck did that come from?  A fully functioning slippy gland must have been delivered to me courtesy of the fat glandular fairy last night whilst asleep.  And after a long winter strapped to the flagellatic trainer, Dawes today was game on for some proper adult fun!  Woo, wee!

Now racing snakes are slippery critters which at the best of times just sneak up on ya and, with a significant increase (if any of ya say uptick to me ever I'll... GRRRRR) in their leg power, they do eventually get past.  I've been caught by the curlies many times whilst buried in 'woe is me thoughts' as I moaned to myself about the effect of the wind on my rough cut jib.  But then rudely awoken as the snake slowly cruised past.  Now a snake in the overtake position generally has its foot hard on the gas.  Many a time I have watched whilst following how the pressure in their pedals dropped as their slippy glands ran out of juice and the lactic acid started to burn their nether regions.  Game on! 

Now my legs today were fine and dandy.  Really.  So this opportunity could not be allowed to pass.  I twist a little on my carbohydrate throttle and up comes my bow.  With a noise of a jet engine in my head that only Hairy Jane could ever successfully imitate in real life, there I am now on its rear wheel watching it bouncing to the left and to the right on each pedal rotation like a demented nodding donkey as it urges its thighs to press on.  Of course with the occasional glance and double take across its right shoulder to only see this Fat BOB of a thing which, even when I’m riding my 5 bar gate with tractor tyres and a pannier bag, remains latched hard to its back wheel like a hungry baby clamped to a nipple.

But I'm feeling OK!  Yes the legs are pushing hard.  Yes my breathing has increased.  My pulse too.  I can feel it, Dave.  I have a blob on.  I can feel Audrey II hard at work shovelling anything that will burn into the boiler.  But for sure the hot water which is surging in the pipes today is keeping the lactic acid at bay.  And Dawes, the naughty girl that she is, is just egging me on.  To push harder, deeper, faster!

Ha!  My first victim.  If I wanted to I could have swallowed that aged critter whole, but not today.  Whilst I do like the taste of crispy salty chicken skin and crackling I generally don't like the taste of sweaty lycra and so was happy not to bite, but to just be a bloody nuisance and keep pace.  It's not easy to cycle hard and overtake whilst laughing yer tits off issit? :-)

Another victim, well a rather nice and chatty Spanish snake called Fransssssisco rode with me on another day and another road back in to York.  I was with Koga this time.  We sped along happily making loud hissing noises at each other chatting about the pleasantries of north western Spain and the crapness of the North Yorkshire roads.  After approx 4 miles he looked at me, then at my 5 bar gate with its tractor tyres and said, 'You're quite fit aren't you...'.  

Well I never.  A compliment from a snake.  A one legged lycra clad snake riding a drop bar bike who for sure doesn't yet have a full grasp of the English racing snake's language cos for sure I expected him to finish that compliment with '...for a fat bloke.'

And finally to make London Alan smile.  There I was on another ride out last week on my way back towards York after crossing Aldwark bridge.  Again moaning to mysen under my breath about having to push 20 gigatons of blubber up a short steep hill into a headwind.  I turned to my left whilst covering my left hand nostril in preparation to empty my nose [1] when I suddenly heard a 'hello' to my right only about 50 yards from cresting the hill.  Feck me.  An ancient albino mustachio'd racing snake.  RIDING A BLOODY BROMPTON E-BIKE! Powering up the hill without a bead of sweat showing on his brow.  Feck that.  I latch onto his fluorescent tail and chase him the remaining 45 yards to the top knowing that I'll have him on the down hill section cos e-bikes are speed restricted.  Just as I approach his piddly little rear wheel he sticks his right arm out and promptly turns into his driveway.  

The FECKER!  Grrrr.  Ooooh how I hate aged racing snakes.  Especially the fecking e-bike elitists who for sure will be first against the wall when the revolution comes [2].

I get home satisfied having had a grand day out.  44 miles :-).  2 snakes caught and in the bag.  Just need to prep them ready for the pot.  Tea was half a pound of ibuprofen tablets then early to bed on the sofa tonight cos right now my boy and our lass can't face the challenge of climbing the stairs. 

Ciao for now.

[1] Emptying yer nose - I for one don't stop riding to clear my nose.  But take great care not to get in a mix cos for sure turning to the left whilst covering the wrong nostril will likely cause you to jackknife and ensure that your jacket will later that evening stand up on its own in the corner of the room covered in a crusty yellow glaze.  For sure you will sound like yer trying to put on a poppadom when you get dressed the following day.  

[2] By a remarkable coincidence a future edition of the Encyclopaedia Brittanica which had fallen back through time through a random worm hole ripped in the fabric of space, said on page 3563 that 'e-bike riders were the first against the wall when the revolution came' [3].

[3] Thank you Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy :-)