O For the Wings of a Dove

Well the good news is that post the in depth analysis and re-configuration of the bike saddle the major knee nobbling problem has now gone.  Completely.  As I have written before, careful adjustment of the saddle height / tilt and fore / aft position has done the trick.  That includes fixing Hairy Melon's chocolatey problem simply 'cos my saddle was originally set too high at the back to stop ma boys at the front from complaining but that just shoved my grundies into her puckered lips.  Imagine squeezing someones cheeks especially if they had a gobful of chocolate and banana.  Yeah.

Now that the saddle is set right the only problem now is that ma boys, you know - the Chuckle Brothers - do the 'to me - to you' routine with a bloody medicine ball every time I set off.  They're occasionally nipped in the ankles [ooohh!] by Balloon Dog who is now trapped hard up against the tip of the saddle.  Well that's what it feels like.  

However after approx 5 miles things settle down.  Why?  Well I checked.  There I was cycling along, legs akimbo with the front of my elasticated shorts pulled out looking down into the nest.  Best I could make out was that the Chuckle Brothers had somehow got themselves above the dog.  So, apparently, I now have to ride for the rest of my life with the beans above the frankfurter to avoid the broken knee syndrome and chocolate shorts problem.  At the end of the ride I now sound like South Side Mark; like I've been sucking on helium all day.  My singing in the shower has also gone up an octave or two and ordering a beer at the bar is a proper problem cos I talk too fast.  I now sound like Inspector Clouseau of the Surete singing 'O For the Wings of a Dove' in the shower after a particularly hard day at work.  

Note:  If you're ever in a bar and you hear a bunch of blokes speaking at 78rpm instead of 33 then I'd put money on it your sharing the place with a bunch of racing snakes after a hard days ride.  

OK..  Whatever it takes...  But as a result I'm now regularly riding 50 plus miles per day.  And because of the increased range I'm now heading out of the flat lands that surround York and I'm away up into the hills.    Of late I've done the Forrest Gump loop again, this time calling in on my ex-neighbours who've moved to Stillington 15 miles away.  I live in a semi-detached house and honestly think that they moved because they were completely fed up with my snoring most nights.  Yeah, even brick partition walls are no protection.

Also a 'GET OFF MY LAND!' loop with me having an argument with Farmer Palmer about a rough trail that I was on.  'I'm not being funny mate', says the clown, 'but this is a private road'.  'No it's a bridleway' says I.  'Private'.  'Bridleway'.  'Private'.  'Bridleway'.  'PRIVATE'.  'Bless You!'.  'PRIVATE!'.  'Bless You!' says I and so on.  Yeah.  

I was on a track marked as a Bridleway at the entrance gate but as I powered up the rough hill with my head down I missed the small sign in the hedgerow painted in black lettering on a green background that tried to indicate that the bridleway exited stage left.  Never mind.  'Crap signage' says I.  And off we went in different directions.  The clown down the rough track, me across a ploughed field.  

Amazing that.  All he needed to do was to say 'Sorry Sir (for I was about twice his age), I think you have just missed the small camouflaged sign about 200 yards back down the hill that indicates the bridleway goes off to the left.  I'm sure you're not here dressed like that riding on that 5 bar gate with tractor tyres to see Sir Huffington Post at the mansion are you?'.  THAT would have been a much nicer and politer conversation than it turned out to be.  Grrrr...  

Anyway for the last 2 days I've had a quick 106 mile spin to the coast and back.  Quick.  LOL!  Well, I didn't set off from home until midday yet reached Hunmanby just before 5pm.  49 miles.  2 fuel stops.  2000 ft.  The whole loop contained almost 4000ft of uphill.  Not bad Wayne.  Not bad.  Considering that all in, me, the bike and the luggage weigh about one sixth of a ton...  Boy do I need to get the power down on the hill climbs.  Heavy man!  There’s a harsh groan on every rotation of the pedals as I make my way to the top of Garrowby.  I'm sure it's the bike frame components moaning and in need of grease and not my knees.  I'm now just wondering if it would help if I greased my testicles too.  As long as they don't go 'ping!'  O For the Wings of a Dove!  I'll need all the help I can get in June this year.

Here's the map and the elevation profile of the ride out.  Garrowby hill is the big lump on the left.

I stayed in Hunmanby, a wild west town near to Filey with its eeyore'ing seaside donkeys; well, drunk locals then who were jabbering outside the pub next door to my run down hotel.  A 200 year old building with 200 year old beds, 200 year old lighting and 2000 year old carpets.  With bedroom door locks that had to be balanced just right to make the room secure.  I had 3 evening meals that night.  An early meat pie at about 5pm, a rice and chilli at about 8pm and a cheese and ham sandwich before I went to bed.  

Proper nobbled myself I did with all that food.  Too much, Wayne!  Found it hard going sleeping on the single bed which had a huge crown green bowling hump in the middle with my belly on top of that.  Spent most of the night trying not to fall off the sweet spot onto the floor.  I hate warm rooms but could not close the radiator valves nor open the windows.  So baked.  And woke myself up with a start about 3 times cos I was snoring that loud.  Wow!

I get up and wobble down the stairs.  Hey my knees are not that bad!  I'm the first one at breakfast.  I knew that someone was in the adjacent bedroom cos I could hear the toilet fan, the shower and the telly most of the evening.  The walls were as thin as paper.  Reminded me of a crap Motel room in New York state some 30 years or so ago.  There I was in a musty bed listening to the trucker and the prostitute getting down and dirty in the room next door.  Yeah, you get what you pay for....  

Going by the table settings it looked like only 3 rooms had been used that night.  Firstly, a woman and her young daughter arrived fresh and bright into the dining room and just got on with ordering breakfast etc.  Followed some 15 minutes later by 2 middle aged women who took an age to open the door and just flopped in.  

Now, I presume that they were more than just good friends.  One was er, mannish.  Both with short spiked hair.  And blurry red eyes.  Both staring at me as the likely culprit as I licked the beans off my sausage.  Something I suspect they’ve never done.  I tried not to look, gobbled the last of my English breakfast and quickly exited the room saying an accidental 'good morning, Sir' whilst just avoiding a slap in the face.  I now know why some women just hate men.  

The northerly route took me firstly onto the beach front at Filey then to the west of Scarborough, across to the Pickering road where I had breakfast number 2 at a roadside cafe.  After a long cross country run I fought the traffic into Malton where I stopped for lunch.  A plate of baked beans on toast was deposited in front of me and when asked if I wanted any condiments I said, 'Yes please, some tomato sauce thanks'.  She looked at me like I was daft.  Well, yes I am.  I meant to say brown sauce but nowadays at my age saying what I meant to say is not always in the end result.  

The back route to York was a nice sequence of short hills.  Whilst my knees had complained a little at about half way I found myself powering along at times stood up in the pedals no problemo!  This is a good sign.  In fact the final leg along Stockton Lane and across York was covered faster than snot off a chicken's lip!  And the legs, whilst a little tired after another 56 miles in the saddle, still felt okay.  In 6 weeks time we will be on the JOGLE thing and things are starting to look good.  :-)

Today me and Brad the Lad are gonna have a 30 mile ride out.  He's gonna get down and dirty with Dawes or should I say she's gonna get down and dirty with him!  To test out whether his new bike when he orders it should have flat or drop handlebars.  

…And whether his testicles are up to the job!

Ciao for now..