Fat Lad Rides Again

Sometimes, just sometimes, I’m late, and it’s not my fault… Doesn’t happen often I’ll admit it but is does. Not having heard from Glen or Roachy I stuck around an extra five minutes to be sure and then set off to meet Pete. Shooting up the cobbled lane at the side of the chippy I had the shock of my life as my Fireballs lit up four hi-vis jackets containing four not so high-vis community support officers. A quick “evening!” from me and with equally pleasant replies received I shifted onwards.
Pulling up at Pete’s place he was only just ready anyway and we rolled over to the Mermaid to meet everyone else.
Everyone else that night; turned out to be Dave. Originally we were slated to do the Drig Delight but with such low numbers we decided to do the Pete Pootle instead and save the delight for another time.
From the chippy we sailed down to the first off-road section passing two more coppers, HQ must have been out of tea and Jammie Dodgers. The field was incredibly boggy and any chance of coasting down to the small bridge without turning the cranks was a distant summer dream.
Past the chapel and to the next climb I dismounted to change to the granny by hand as the mech had completely seized. In hindsight I should have changed the gear at the top of the hill and not wasted all the run up on the approach… suffice to say I didn’t make it….
I spun up the following shallower climb with my trailrakers only spinning out occasionally near the summit. We moved on without the usual rest and lapped the reservoir to play in the bomb hole.
There is a short climb we all usually have a blast at but with a sense of collective defeat we all just climbed the steps to the top of the drop instead. Pete was the first to shoot down the cheer inducing micro valley and made it up the side mentioning something about “white outs”. I flew down next and at the top of the other side turned round just in time to see Dave fall over sideways in the exact same spot he had done the week previous.
With everyone’s legs still fresh we decided to add some more miles to the original route. Out of the bomb hole and with a short stretch of road work we were blasting through “Beirut Alley” sharing the tales of woe from our day jobs. Both Pete and I had “words” with our managers but were soon pedaling them from memory into insignificance.
We conquered the gravel stream at the back of the White Rose and dropped onto the really boggy section parallel to the railway tracks. With the muddy depths defeated we crossed the railway and had two minutes while Dave changed his battery. All that lay ahead of us was the final climb back home.
Head clear, I was ready to face the next day of working to live.

Fat Lad