You should'na be doing that!

Right.  It's time to get 2025 into gear!  

So here we go.  A blog entry covering this years planned ride from Fort William to Edinburgh - the long way - and a bit about my fitness and ability to continue to ride my bike being that I am a fat bloke ploughing on into my 60's!

OK.  So am I fit and ready?

1. Regarding my eyes.  

Miss Mitrut - the consultant - had clearly told me post my last [and hopefully final!] eye surgery in November NOT to strain for the next month.  That included NO lifting of heavy weights, NO straining on the toilet [I guess], and NO humping of the heavy stuff - and that includes the women folk.  You know, not doing anything that might cause pressure to increase in my head and my eyeball to go POP! like a badly manhandled ripe gooseberry.

So, seven days after surgery I go out for a ride on my old Dawes Audax Giro bike.  All I wanted to do was a nice 'n easy 30 mile loop out - mainly on the flat to keep my legs spinning but without the effort associated with going uphill - or racing snakes.  

There we were both grinding along in a smooth lubricated way.  I'm across her back thrusting gently with my hands resting lightly on her handlebar like shoulders, you know, where the brake levers are at.  We both come to a stop at the 'doggers' Post Office cum cafe [and I mean that in both ways] in Riccall for a coffee and a small something to eat.  I'm both teased by the petite lady behind the counter who I think, but I might be wrong about this, was asking me to lick her buns whilst being simultaneously annoyed by a jabbering 60 something bloke who was interrupting my foreplay.  She could not but admire my new petrol blue highly reflective windproof jacket which even though it is a 3XL is still a bit 'spray on'.  Thus exposing my lumpy bits to the middle aged ladies who were bent over the corner table whispering sweet somethings about the new bloke in town; and who probably have an UBER account with the local dog catcher for their regular visits to the nearby Skipwith Common.

Somehow I exit the place having watched intently through my sharpened eyes the women folk furtively lick their sausage sandwiches without getting my face slapped. 

2. She's a naughty naughty girl! 

I cock my leg across the back of Dawes and scoot away generally in the direction of York.  We end up on the Stillingfleet to Naburn 'B' road; a busty little thing with curves in all the right places.  We're cruising along all lah-de-dah Gunner Graham like with our minds not necessarily on the job in hand.  

Then all of a sudden a small group of young Racing Snakes riding manky razor blades gently glide by.  A crowd of young men folk following in the wake of a pink lycra encrusted pheromone.  A slithering slime-ball mess of snake bodies wrapped tight around a petite young busty thing, and I'm not talking about the road here.  Emblazoned across their backs is, 'University of York cycling club'; also known, because the qualifications for university applicants is so poor nowadays, as the Yuniversity Of York Omnium club.  Or YOYOs as they're known locally.

At the same time as I'm hit by the lady smell, Dawes is hit by the pungent perfume of moist male bits encrusted in lycra.  POW!  She has a sudden wide awake look on her face like I've accidentally slipped Balloon Dog into her back yard.  And we're off!  

We're quickly up their behinds riding along as part of their peloton.  Yep for sure I'm smitten by the sight of the wonderfully taught young buttocks in front of me - and that's just the men folk.  I almost snap my handbrake lever off when I catch a glimpse of her derriere though!  And Dawes, the naughty girl, for sure had taken quite a shine to the fit as fook Specialized razor in front, almost ripping his rubber off in her desperate attempt to get in deep with the action.  We're lost in a lustful moment not normally experienced this side of Skipwith Common.

For the next 3-4 miles there we are in the mix writhing around all Tour-de-France like trying not to be the one to bring the whole shooting match to an inglorious crash of an end.  Yes, we are working hard but you know what?  I'm comfortably keeping up with them.  It probably had something to do with the pink lycra clad arse in front of my nose.  And somehow I managed to keep Balloon Dog from popping out to admire the action.  Phwoarr! 

Oh dear Wayne.  Just how long did it take for you to forget what the doctor had ordered.  You bloody idiot!

3.  Regarding my legs.  

Last Autumn me and Brad the Lad decided to have a ride to Scarborough.  I'm again riding Dawes - this time with my straps on.   We arrive in Malton some 18 miles through the hills away for lunch in probably my bestest time ever.  Our normal routing is then across to the Pickering road but I had a recollection from previous rides that there was an acceptable cycle path at the side of the A64.  Being that this was the 'flatter' route, and only because the A64 was very quiet traffic wise for a sunny late autumnal day, we decided that we'd try it for a change.  

Oh to have 26 year old legs again is my standard moan whenever I go for a ride with Brad the Lad.  Trying to push a fat body along and up hills with skinny legs bent in the middle at a pair of faulty knees is no fun at this time of life.  But, I've lost a little weight having reduced from a 46 to a 42 inch waist.  Primarily because I've cut a shedload of carbohydrate out of my diet now that I'm monitoring my blood glucose levels which are now GOOD.  And my cycling fitness is pretty good after a pleasant year of meandering around this lumpy bumpy country of ours.  

The cycle path is overgrown and the A64 is relatively quiet so we hit the road.  And I'm off!!  In the lead!  Abso-bloody-lutely whizzing along in places.  With Brad the Lad stuck to my back wheel.  Bloody hell, uncle Wayne he says, you were doing 22 MPH back there!  GOOD.  

4.  Regarding my hands, knees and my bums-a-daisy.

I'm out again in January on the lumpy bumpy curvy section of road from Stillingfleet to Naburn, this time on my Surly mountain bike with loaded panniers.  Again I'm pressing along quite nicely.   I had seen at the 'T' junction another pair of racing snakes, a slim lanky one followed by a small angry one coming towards me and I knew, cos of my spidey sense, that they were about to follow me on to the final 6 mile stretch to York.

I'm about a mile or two along the road, probably cruising at a nice non lah-de-dah like speed, when this gnarly snake of a thing slithers past on my right hand side.  Behind him is a much smaller snake with its head down and tail up, growling to himself a lot.  You know, the masochistic pet dog of the black mamba out front.

I speed up and ride along with him.  A big boned, tall drink of water on his well worn razor of a thing.  Now at this point I had only done about 30 miles and so was well impressed that I still had it in me, without snotting and farting, to ride along with him whilst being chased by a growler.  Running now at a proper FAST rate going by the complaints emanating from my shorts. 

Now I thought I was doing good.  Turns out that this particular pair of road detritus encrusted snakes were out on their bi-weekly ride.  A one-hundered-and-twenty-five-mile-bike-ride!  Yikes!  There I was mixing it with a couple of top echelon racing snakes and chatting as we go.  To which he says it's nice for a change to be cycling and chatting with someone at the same time.  Yeah.  To a mere mortal of a daily cycle rider these boys are cruising at some God forbidden altitude at which any normal cyclist would be unable to breathe let alone speak.  For me the 4 or so miles of racing along with them was enough thank you kindly.  I make a right turn back onto the cycle trail and - ZOOM!  They're gone.  

So, whaddyathink?  Yes, I agree.  All I need is a pair of worn frilly knickers strapped like a carrot on a stick in front of me this year and I'll be off!  

To finish you off too... well, here is a planning video that describes this years main ride.  From Fort William to Edinburgh the long way around.  

I am sorry this entry is a bit long if you are brave enough to watch all of the video too and can tolerate all of the double-entendres.  At least its just a little bit better than reading the back of the shampoo bottle whilst sat on the bog.  Isn't it?

Ciao for now.