Tmesis, how cool a word is that. It means to insert one word into another. Like absofeckinlutely or unbe-twatting-lievable. Despite what your parents/teachers may tell you swearing is big and it is clever. As the more observant readers may be able to tell I’m getting a touch bored with the Thorpe Tickler and if I have to drag everybody else kicking and screaming we are riding somewhere different next week.
I started getting ready earlier than usual, normally I get changed, get my camelbak ready and assemble the push iron about ten minutes before we set off, inevitably making everybody wait for me before we can go. Why nobody has ever killed me in my sleep is a miracle I’ll never understand. So getting ready early for a change meant that I noticed and repaired the puncture in my front wheel well before anybody arrived!
Roachy as always turned up early. He sat and chatted with Mrs. Fat Lad while I carried on getting ready, Pete and Sheila arrived and we were off. Getting to the end of the road the Banshee Brakes kicked in once more squealing like a fecker once again. First climb of the night and after faffing about trying to get clipped in I was in the completely wrong gear. Stamping up the hill as far as I could I eventually sat down and changed gear crunching my way up the cassette calling out “If you Can’t Find it, grind it!“
Onto the road we managed a good pace to the first off road section and after a short climb on the track that rolls really really well we all stopped for a breather (some of us needed it more than others). We all commented on what a nice mild night it was and collectively hoped it was a good omen for the summer.
We made our across the field the other side of the dual carriageway and I’m sure that we’ve never crossed it the same way twice. After the field we made our way down Thorpe lane and onto the track at the back of Middleton.
It must be something about warm weather. A little raise in temperature brings out midges, short skirts and scum. Riding across the back of Middleton some Special Brew drinking, Burberry wearing fucktards shouted “Get em!â€. Now we’re all grown ups so we laughed it off and carried on riding. So that’s when the bath dodging, DSS leeching teenage pregnancy wannabees starting throwing rocks and bottles at us. Nice. Still minimum wage and the constant repetition of the phrase “Do you want fries with that?†awaits these idiots so all is not lost.
The last time Roachy and I were out we discovered a new path behind the altar of consumerism (White Rose Centre) and give that one another go with Pete an Sheila in tow. It’s no easier than the other gravel nightmare but it is a little more varied. Rather than going the bottom path next to the railway line (which is boggy pretty much all year) round we climbed up onto the top field (which is drying out nicely) and followed it back down to the railway station. Sheila’s gears were playing up badly by now and she was having a rough time of it on the climbs. I felt for her as my pedals were also playing silly buggers with the left hand pedal not engaging properly and the right not letting go! Past the station we climbed up Daisy hill and that’s when Roachy and I let Pete and Sheila in on “The Secretâ€.
I wonder if I should be writing this down or not. I’m worried that if I commit this to the page that “They†might come for me finally in their unmarked black helicopters. Feck it let see what happens….
So, “The Secretâ€. Halfway down the trail from Daisy hill on the way to the last climb there is an Alien that lives in a tree. He’s round, orange and mocks you all the way up the last climb, shouting things like “My gran could ride up that faster†and “Get into a higher gear you fairies!â€. He’s stuck in that tree. He has been for years. That’s what makes him cruel you see, I think the confinement has warped his sanity.
So Pete and Sheila giggled at the SpaceHopper stuck in the tree (at least I think they were laughing at that…) and we hammered the last climb home.
Fat Lad
