So Saturday came and went with a late-ish start, a smooth trip to London, a spot of gardening and the promise of fine ale. That translated into a mix of beer, one pint of St. Austell and some Italian fare and part one of my master plan for a fine weekend completed. Which was enhanced upon the return home by Cathy showing more enthusiasm for the bikes than I imagined as the BMX was climbed aboard for an impromptu ride around the downstairs living area with no encouragement whatsoever. And that from a girl who hasn’t ridden for 30 years and finds BMX bikes wrong, wrong and wrong again!
So, being encouraged that Sunday may lead to a ride after all, I woke reasonably eagerly. Then gave up, slept for an age and decided my last day before returning to work could indeed be taken at a suitably leisurely pace that it would be savoured rather than regretted.
This was backed up when Cathy got on the mountain bike for a proposed ride to see if the cows had yet returned and duly announced her intention to fall off/ run over small people/ get run over/ fall in the canal. I had no intention of any of these becoming reality, so we set off slowly. Honest. The ride was good. One set of steps was enjoyed, one moment saw a near perilous speed wobble as the bike drifted onto the edge of a grassy bank (not the rider, clearly…just the bike!) and the pace was pleasant for a Sunday jaunt. Despite the bombing of the set of steps, just to demonstrate what is possible and not because it’s fun in the slightest of course and jumping every speed hump encountered, the overall pace for 8.5 miles was slower than a run, but far more entertaining, while much quicker than a walk and far far far more amusing so all in a damned pleasant round off to a good week.
Running form should return next week, Monday will probably be a seafront jaunt, Thursday or Friday will see a return to the hills and stress will grow. Roll on the weekend again!
241 cars. And no, you can’t put it back in. Correct!