Of Mice and Men
A late blog entry covering yesterday’s ride from Eastbourne to Folkestone cos whilst this guest house is big and lovely with 5 wifi networks set up for all its guests, the end of it is connected to a wet bit of string. It is therefore extremely slow and this morning - dead. Not unlike my legs.
Some 58 miles yesterday across a huge swathe of flat lands covered with salty sheep wandering across the salty veldt. Who knew? Not me for I thought that Sussex and Kent generally resembled my belly when laid on my back. You know, after a hard ride on a very warm day. Huge rolling monstrous hills that erupted with small warm salty rivulets which run down into warm crevasses. Covered with steep sided valleys, you know, where my leather belt and other elasticated bits had cut into the meaty blubber. Umph! Bork!
So there we were cruising along at speeds that an almost 60 year old and a 63 year young pair of blokes should be proud of. The roads were flat for mile after mile. The surface was very good in comparison to the arse and testicle shocking hell that exists back home. We fair greased along with knees that probably still had not fully awoken from the previous night and so had not yet reacted to the abuse being thrown at them. Following mainly the gravelly coastline along a pristine beach front on which you would have the most fun if you brought a concrete mixer instead of a bucket and spade. Sand it aint.
There we were all lah-di-dah Gunner Graham spinning along relatively quiet roads heading in the general direction of Hastings - and ran full pelt slap bang into the bottom of the South Downs! Jeez! Talk about slinging a spanner into Myfanwy's spokes. A monstrously steep climb out of Hastings up to 500ft. The bottom third of which must have been between a 15 and 20 percent gradient. For sure Myfanwy's newly built back wheel was put to the test as her front wheel lifted off of the road on the steepest bit. With the weight of me, the bike and luggage thrusting her down into the tarmac bed. I’m grinding one sixth of a ton onto her nether regions. She took it all with a tentative smile. That reminds me I should go back to Bradford again sometime soon.
Occasionally when riding one hears pinging and tinkling sounds as gravel and other bits of detritus ping off of the rubber into the frame. There I was following London Alan when we both heard a pretty loud ding! “Don’t worry London Alan, I think it's just the crap in the road”, and so we continued along our way. We're both singing “stop the bus I want a wee wee”. So we did at which point London Alan noticed that her left hand toe clip was hanging off.
Somewhere on the ride two mounting nuts had dropped off of his brand new Genysis Croix De Fer bike leaving his bits dangling in the breeze. Croix de Fer is French slang for 'am I a boy or a girl?’. Which seems an appropriate type of bike to sell in today’s world full of monopods. She’s a pretty bike in a way that Myfanwy isn't. So just as was done on the NC500, there I was with my spanners out removing her right hand clip on toe ring before it also dissolved off of the bike. "It’s all probably cos of the salty sea air..", says I. "Or more likely the tw@t at the bike shop had failed to tighten all of her nuts."
Oh dear, like children in a candy shop we’d gone mad at it earlier in the day. Which left us both in limp home mode towards the very end of the ride. We're both sat on a monstrously huge sea wall just outside of Folkestone which ran for miles to protect the properties on the other side which for sure were owned by sub mariners. Staring out across the channel at the French coastline as it intermittently flashed its bits to us Can-Can style between the banks of rubber dingies, smog and haze. I didn’t know whether to lick my ice cream or rub it into my knees. The final climb up a very steep cliff side footpath in Folkestone was done off of the bike.
It's why shakedown rides are so important. It tests out men, appendages, dangly bits, knee joints, arses… and bikes.
Notwithstanding the Wifi the guest house again is a good un. I’m stood in the entrance hall. With panniers and bits in hand I look up at a steep set of fecking stairs!
Oh dear . I think I’m sleeping in the dining room tonight.
Some 58 miles yesterday across a huge swathe of flat lands covered with salty sheep wandering across the salty veldt. Who knew? Not me for I thought that Sussex and Kent generally resembled my belly when laid on my back. You know, after a hard ride on a very warm day. Huge rolling monstrous hills that erupted with small warm salty rivulets which run down into warm crevasses. Covered with steep sided valleys, you know, where my leather belt and other elasticated bits had cut into the meaty blubber. Umph! Bork!
So there we were cruising along at speeds that an almost 60 year old and a 63 year young pair of blokes should be proud of. The roads were flat for mile after mile. The surface was very good in comparison to the arse and testicle shocking hell that exists back home. We fair greased along with knees that probably still had not fully awoken from the previous night and so had not yet reacted to the abuse being thrown at them. Following mainly the gravelly coastline along a pristine beach front on which you would have the most fun if you brought a concrete mixer instead of a bucket and spade. Sand it aint.
There we were all lah-di-dah Gunner Graham spinning along relatively quiet roads heading in the general direction of Hastings - and ran full pelt slap bang into the bottom of the South Downs! Jeez! Talk about slinging a spanner into Myfanwy's spokes. A monstrously steep climb out of Hastings up to 500ft. The bottom third of which must have been between a 15 and 20 percent gradient. For sure Myfanwy's newly built back wheel was put to the test as her front wheel lifted off of the road on the steepest bit. With the weight of me, the bike and luggage thrusting her down into the tarmac bed. I’m grinding one sixth of a ton onto her nether regions. She took it all with a tentative smile. That reminds me I should go back to Bradford again sometime soon.
Occasionally when riding one hears pinging and tinkling sounds as gravel and other bits of detritus ping off of the rubber into the frame. There I was following London Alan when we both heard a pretty loud ding! “Don’t worry London Alan, I think it's just the crap in the road”, and so we continued along our way. We're both singing “stop the bus I want a wee wee”. So we did at which point London Alan noticed that her left hand toe clip was hanging off.
Somewhere on the ride two mounting nuts had dropped off of his brand new Genysis Croix De Fer bike leaving his bits dangling in the breeze. Croix de Fer is French slang for 'am I a boy or a girl?’. Which seems an appropriate type of bike to sell in today’s world full of monopods. She’s a pretty bike in a way that Myfanwy isn't. So just as was done on the NC500, there I was with my spanners out removing her right hand clip on toe ring before it also dissolved off of the bike. "It’s all probably cos of the salty sea air..", says I. "Or more likely the tw@t at the bike shop had failed to tighten all of her nuts."
Oh dear, like children in a candy shop we’d gone mad at it earlier in the day. Which left us both in limp home mode towards the very end of the ride. We're both sat on a monstrously huge sea wall just outside of Folkestone which ran for miles to protect the properties on the other side which for sure were owned by sub mariners. Staring out across the channel at the French coastline as it intermittently flashed its bits to us Can-Can style between the banks of rubber dingies, smog and haze. I didn’t know whether to lick my ice cream or rub it into my knees. The final climb up a very steep cliff side footpath in Folkestone was done off of the bike.
It's why shakedown rides are so important. It tests out men, appendages, dangly bits, knee joints, arses… and bikes.
Notwithstanding the Wifi the guest house again is a good un. I’m stood in the entrance hall. With panniers and bits in hand I look up at a steep set of fecking stairs!
Oh dear . I think I’m sleeping in the dining room tonight.
Ciao for now
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