To say that today at work has been a bad day would be a masterpiece of understatement.
Today has been the only day I have been on the bike this week. Last week I did a total of 83 miles, so feel extra guilty. I did nothing on Sunday except pootle to the local (only at the end of the road) for a pint, on what is now a noticably heavy mountain bike. But without suicide pedals. This is much safer for the pooo(hic)ttl(hic)e home melud. Wednesday was so washed out down here I didn't cycle to work as I have not yet purchased the appropriate fluorescent waterproof (skin tight of course) cycling top. I have not even managed to get to the gym to sit in the warm half heartedly pedalling while watching Kylie (mmmmm Kylie) on VH1 classic or the Vault. So this morning I made myself get up, despite the near sleepless night and bad dreams and get on the bike.
It was flippin misty at 6.30 this morning. But Off I went with as many high viz strip thingys as I could find attached to my person somewhere and praying that whoever came up behind me would see my flashing light before they hit me. The level crossing barrier gates were down so rather than go the long way round (zero enthusiasm) I got off and waited (yes folks I got my feet out of the clips in a controlled and dignified manner). Got to the gym had my Mr B steam, sauna, jaccuzzi and shower. This was especially nice as the wet road had mostly been transfered into the seat padding of my cycling shorts as I have not yet bought a mud guard either. In fact I am frankly ill equipped for moisture.
The day from hell, completing the fortnight from Valhalla ensued.
I usually wash my cycling kit in the surgery machine so it can get dried in the tumbly dryer ready for the ride home. However as part of the day my shorts had not really dried well. Too late and I really wanted to get home I change anyay. Well what the heck I'll going to end up all sweaty anyay by the time I get home so start damp.....no big deal.
Now I should now mention that because of the day from hell and the forthnight of damnation, my mind was not 100% focused on riding the bike. Knowing this I was being careful. I dismounted when the cycle paths crossed the dual carriageways getting back on only when safe to do so. Then on the climb up the hill towards shinewater and allowed my mind to wander and review and try to somehow change the day's events, when in my distraction I sensed a Firefox moment again. Aside...wasn't that freaky. No sooner do I mention it in a post on here than it appears on TV over the weekend. Another excuse (nearly said reason ha!) for not getting out on the bike. Anyhoo. I am getting to the end of the cycle route. Directly in front is a high curb, the cycle route turns sharp right onto a dropped curb but then I have to go sharp left once on the road , onto and over a mini roundabout (it's OK I can do those). For a split second I considered the straight on option dropping off the curb. But then remembered Sinead's comments about several innertubes as a result of such mammoth leaps. So I decide to turn right and then sharp left onto the mini roundabout before being struck by the approaching mondeo. My left foot is out of the pedal in readiness in case I do need to stop. But the slightly damp seat padding in my shorts was somewhat less closely conforming to one's contours, and had by now taken on all the characteristics of a moderately full pampers. The bike is slowing...and slowing and I find that now standing in the right pedal, left foot free, the pampers are hooked over the front end of the saddle. I tried to regain may seat, however this seemed to make the situation somewhat more urgent as I failed, and was duely presenting whoever was behind me with a visual represntation of somehere to park their own bike... if you know what I mean. So, whilst slowing with pampers hooked up like a failed parachute, and turning very, very slowly to the right, Mitchell Gant's face (Clint Eastwood's Firefox character) popped into my head muttering the Hokey Kokey into his helmet. He said something to the effect of "your Right foot's in but your left foot's out". Major Gant could obviously see that as I was slowly toppling to the Right, the tactical descision to remove the Left foot from the cleats before the curb was by now fatally (almost) flawed.
I think that in the blind panic of trying to un-hook the dry-nights I forgot to think in Russian!
I can only hope that next week will be better.......? Maybe if I just tweak those pedal releases a bit more??
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