A better evening of sleep and recovery enabled me to get out of bed and only have to hold my head in my hands for a few seconds, silently crying to myself that my life must be able to offer more than this, before managing to get up, eat and leave for work on my pedal cycle. The cycle that has 20 gears, skinny tyres and dropped handlebars.
It nearly had very little of anything as I exited Appledore and cut a blind junction only to realise that a quiet car can defeat my ears and be just where I don’t want it just when I don’t want it there, though. Very close shaves at 06.30 can be done without. Tomorrow (and always in future, it’s fair to say), the junction will be treated as such.
The ride in was otherwise dull. The daily wind-farm check at Brookland revealed only one to not be working and otherwise it was a fair pedal in.
The day had worrying things in store, though, notably the revelation that I can become obsessed with something over the course of 8 hours. Today my obsession was flags. We have two poles at the sales car park in the dip of the site and three at the entrance on the highest part of Udimore on the edge of Rye. The two in the dip are variously affected by the hedges and building they’re near; the three are exposed to prevailing everything.
Needless to say I kept forlornly looking at the lower two since they were fluttering in a not too bad “wind will be slightly against me but mostly sideways on the way home” style. The top three were best ignored. Nothing but a stiffening breeze was showing on them. And all directly as a headwind for the journey.
I managed to put it out of mind, though, until I set off and for the fifty yards off site and up the hill things were ace. Then I turned the corner and had a veritable gale blowing straight at me. Throught the town things were average; the main 7 mile straight to Appledore, however, was evil.
The upshot was a bike with effectively 6 gears. 14 had simply been eradicated by the wind. Passing the Environment Agency depot at Scott’s Float in third gear, their two flags as stiff as a very stiff thing and directly into my face, I was feeling annoyed. Even cycling on the extreme right of the road as a runner might to try to gain some shelter from the hedge had little effect. I simply couldn’t get above 7th gear without slowing and gradually grinding down the cogs to regain some momentum.
And on the journey went. A full 20 minutes longer to do the 15.5 miles than a quick time; 15 minutes longer than usual. And all noisy, horrible miles. Not a good commute. Certainly not good for legs that have to do the same again in the morning.
And the run was thus postponed until just after 20.00 when I’d done my bits in the greenhouse and the essential chores. A decision to change the insoles in my New Balance shoes for some footbed variety saw me sat in the sitting room, swapping bits and wondering how they looked clean (mud residue but no claggy bits and generally ok) but smelled of shite. I kept sniffing my hands, the soles, the 2 pairs of insdoles – all to no avail. Well, apart from giving JogBlog something to laugh about with my seemingly odd behaviour. The I put two and two together and looked up. And Lo! There was the biggest turd a cat has ever laid, winking at me from the rug in front of the fire. No wonder I could smell shit…I was living in it. And JB couldn’t smell a thing. I think the term is “Bastard Cat” followed by “Get out” followed by “Don’t come back”. Only because she fell over this morning and hurt JB’s shoulder in her attempt to recover is she still clinging onto a home…she’d better stay clumsy and amusing if shitting in the lounge is to continue!
So, a meagre 2 miles was outed, a simple jog up the hill to the cinder track, a run along it involving the passing through of 10 kissing gates, and a return home which all seemed fine except for the oddest thing ever upon returning. As I sat down to turn on the computer, it was as though someone turned a tap on from my upper body. Sweat ran out of me for a minute before I gave up and stood under the shower in a attempt to stop it. Never happened before, hopefully it won’t again, but this Juneathon lark is doing funny things to me.
1122.03 miles to go.
63.29 Juneathon cycling miles
3.96 Juneathon running miles