House bike ride.

Now those are some *nice* threads...

It turns out...

...that the cycle rack doesn't fit into the Whizzgo van. Drat!

Skyride

These scars I earned...

Bicycles, bicycles, bicycles, everywhere you looked, bicycles! Dunk and I chatted merrily around the Skyride route from Castlefield up to Sportcity and back again. Afterwards, we still had the hunger to ride, so headed down the canal and out on the NCN Route towards Dunham Massey.

TPT - the accident

Excuse my bleary eyes and slurring speech, I’ve not had very much sleep. Laura and I spent last night in A&E department at the MRI. It was the longest night of the year, and it sure felt like it.

TPT - the shopping

In preparation for tomorrow’s bike ride, I’ve been shopping. I’ve picked up two bottles and cages to help keep us lubricated, and a gel seat to help Laura with her hire bike’s uncomfortable saddle. The weather looks like it’s going to be clear and bright. The bake sale has already raised about seventy pounds. How exciting!

TPT - the baking

To help raise money via the ride, Laura has set up a Just Giving page. Any sponsorship will go to Save The Children to help those living in areas most severely affected by climate change. TO further support this, she’s holding a bake sale at work on Monday. Today has seen a bake-a-thon: peanut butter cookies; choc-chip shortbread; strawberry and blueberry cupcakes; ultimate carrot cake. She’s selling it all in her work tomorrow. I’m really proud of her dedication to the cause. And it’s all dead tasty too. Yum!

TPT - the call

Laura called.

“I’m riding from Dunham Massey to Penistone next Tuesday. Nobody from work will come with me. Are you free?”
“I think I’ll be able to get the time off, yes.”

So it went. We’re taking the Trans Pennine Trail next Tuesday. Can’t wait!

Round up since April.

It is, I accept, a long time since I blogged. A very long time. I hope that I haven't alienated any of my already limited readership with this reticence. Plenty has happened in the last couple of months, but I've not been very good at writing it down. Since we last spoke: 

• Everything with Laura is great, and I'm very much in love.
• I moved house, and now live with my friend Kate at the other end of Chorlton.
• I have an amazing new bike. It's fucking amazing.
• My college course has moved on quickly: I've submitted all but two assignments now, and have nearly made it to the end.

Like, seriously kicks ass.

I got a new bike, and, damn, it kicks ass! like, seriously kicks ass. Pic after the jump. For the brave only!

22 min 50

"You're a honey with a following..."

I confessed in a note, on green paper, then got on my bike, and dropped it round. This time tomorrow Nic will know I was behind the flowers. And soon I’ll know what Nic thinks about me. I’m nervous, but excited too.

Mud = victory

A pint of treacle.

Clare called – did I want to meet her and Woody for a stroll along the Mersey? Yes, of course. I took my bike down, and met them between the Parkway and the Water Park. Woody hadn’t really been down there before, and seemed to really enjoy it. The first pint at Jackson’s Boat was a struggle. “Bettsy’s friend,” said Tom, “calls this ‘The Pint of Treacle,’ because it’s so hard to drink.”

We carried on up towards the Bowling Green to watch the Ireland Australia game, and the treacle soon thawed. It was a tremendous game of rugby. At half time Tom and I nipped out to smoke. My bike was under the guard of two burly police officers. Policing is good at the bottom of Beech Road.

The slow march of the leaves

Another day, another hangover. Nothing too severe for me, but some of the team were really suffering. Loose ends were tied up over the course of the morning: Vin and I finished writing the quiz; Skinner had been found, and would be with us in the afternoon; Charlene was on her way; Audrey and Tani were about to leave; my team decided on its Come Dine With Me meal. It was a Monday morning when things got done.

“Mate, let’s go out on the bikes and find somewhere to buy a beer.”
“That sounds perfect. We can sort out teams for the quiz as we ride.”
“On y va!”

We rode west along the canal, towards Carcassone. We searched for and failed to find a beer in Paraza, and then the English bar in Roubia was closed. We pressed on, and found a house by the side of lock. A tanned man in his mid-fifties, the lock keeper, greeted us. I asked for two beers, at a euro each, offering him a five. “Pas de monnaie,” he said – no change. He offered me the pair for free. I shook my head, and asked for five beers. He smiled at me, and handed them over.

We found chairs at the side of the lock, and drank our beers in the sunshine, smiling at passing boats. We were here:


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The lock keeper wandered in front of us, carrying a plastic crate of old bread. He put his hands into it, and took out the larger lumps. He stamped on them, crunching their ends, and put them back into the crate. I shared a raised eyebrow with Vin. Obviously we were in the company of a mentalist. It got worse: we watched, amazed, as he threw a bucket on a rope into the canal, drew it up, and poured its contents into the crate. He rolled up his sleeves, put his arms into the mushy mix, and stirred. Sloppy breadcrumbs dripped from his elbows. Surely this is not how the French make their famous baguettes? He took the bread slurry, and scattered it up and down one bank of the canal, slowly, calmly, deliberately. I can’t remember if Vin worked it out, or if I did: he was feeding the ducks.

We watched the slow march of the sunken leaves in the canal and caught up in the warm lunchtime sun. A few more beers. Family talk. Private, intimate conversation. We talked about balancing holidays with work, about pleasure and effort and their relationship. The leaves were golden down both sides of the canal, as we watched the ducks have their fill.

Improv cycle clips

What do you get for the man who has everything (except cycle clips)? Electrical tape, and feeling like a winner all the way to Didsbury.

"Who smokes crack on a Saturday lunchtime?"

We cycled past two men smoking crack.

"Who smokes crack on a Saturday lunchtime?" I asked Chubb.

"Drug addicts?"

Cycling holiday

So, we’ve booked a tipi. The bikes should fit into the car.
Coasts and Castles, here we come.