(warning: contains juvenile content)
09:21 Eastbourne Road
"Well I reckon it's definitely sh*t", said Steve F, not very helpfully "how did you manage that then?"
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| Man hug on Beachy! |
"There must be a bit of stick around somewhere", said Steve, more helpfully.
We scoured the terrain to no avail. I rummaged around my jacket and pulled out my house key.
"Ah, nah, come on mate, you can't use that"
I realised I was getting desperate and put it away. We set off again after Neil and Pete and found them waiting for us at the Pevensey lights.
"Where've you been", asked Neil, as I tailed him along Wallsend Road.
"I've got sh*t in my cleat", I said
Suspecting that he didn't believe me. I repeated myself:
"I've got sh*t in my cleat, I'm not joking!"
"I believe you!, what do you want me to do about it?", he said in his useful, slightly 'huffy' irritated manner.
"We'll have to pull over"
We waited until we had negotiated the Pevensey roundabout and stopped by a puddle at the start of Sluice Lane. I found a stick and set to work. Having dislodged the bulk of it onto the end of the stick I chased after Neil with it.
"Ah, get off!, get off!"
This made me very happy. I set about rinsing my shoe and cleat in the puddle, but as everyone knows this is never really going to work that effectively. The term 'sticks like sh*t' is very true and there is even a glue available in builders merchants with this trade name. I took a that'll do approach and we headed back to Di Paulos with the wind behind us. Maybe because of loosing the excess baggage I felt strong, and Pete and me managed to hang onto Neil's wheel all the way; with Steve F making a valiant effort but falling away along Herbrand.
Back at D Paulos we hopped off the bikes and in the process of removing one of my gloves I pulled the lining out , I thought: 'I'll sort that out in a minute.' We ordered coffee, and Neil and Steve F also bought some massive chunks of fruit cake. Once seated I commented to Neil that he was going really well today and he explained that he left his water bottles behind and so was benefiting from the weight reduction; I'm amazed at the lengths some cyclists will go to improve their Strava times - even risking dehydration - silly boy, in my opinion.
About 10 minutes before we were due to commence the start of the BBR I realised I needed to 'go somewhere', but noticed that due to the length of his absence the Colonel had got there first. After he got back to the table I though I ought to leave it a few minutes before risking 'going in'. The other cyclists were getting up from the tables and I said to the Colonel:
"Could you give me a few minutes?"
"Yes, no problem", he replied
I came out and wasn't aware of any permanent damage. I gathered up my helmet and gloves and rushed outside to find most of the others were leaving. The Colonel waited across the road and observed me 'fathing' with my gloves - I had forgotten to fix the problem with the lining at leisure and was now panicking. It took me a good five minutes to get my hand back in the glove by which time the Colonel had left. I chased after the group but they weren't even in distant view; "Still never mind, I'm sure they'll wait for me at that left turn after Herbrand'' I thought to myself. The wind was a real 'cow son' and I felt quite demoralised battling with it on my own; it felt like I was being dragged back by a big elastic band attached to my saddle. Sometimes when I'm struggling I like to count the rotations in either 3, 5 or 7 beats - I find this helps to stay focused. I arrived at the first of our regrouping points to find no one was there. 'Oh, well, I'm sure they'll be waiting for me at the end of the lane that joins the Ninfield Road. I carried on with my counting:"One, two, three, four, FIVE, one, two three, four , FIVE....", I turned the last corner full of high hopes - still no one there!. "Never mind, I'm sure they'll definitely be waiting for me at the top of Boreham Hill." I struggled up the hill straining to catch sight of someone (I did past the newbie at the roundabout by the petrol garage (sorry name escapes me)) who said :
"Don't wait for me - I'm new and I'm taking a shorter route."
"O.K, cheers, good luck", I replied
Cresting the hill I had to face the inevitable: "The rotters haven't waited or me oh, dash it (or thoughts to that effect.) I pushed on but made a decision to ignore the Tilley Lane sign; mostly I thought I might make up for lost time, but also at the back of my mind I was thinking that I might get lost - I know what I'm like!
To maintain focus and keep my morale up I continued counting rotations, but switched from keeping the beat with numbers to a different mantra: B*ll-ocks-to-them-ALL,B*ll-ocks-to-them-ALL- this fitted the five beats perfectly and kept my spirits up. I headed for the haven of the Pevensey bakery via Hailsham, Hankham and Westham. Whichever direction I went in I seemed to be facing a headwind, until I reached the Eastbourne Road ( for the second time today.)
Back at the Bakery I felt like I felt like I was back in the womb, such a relief to not have to face the departure lounge at Starbucks International again. I ordered a 'Early Bird' and waited to see who arrived; in fact there was only four: The Colonel, Terry, Darren and newbie Eddie. I explained my situation to the Colonel who was aggrieved that Neil hadn't waited for me as he was at the front and that he thought I was making a phone call; more worryingly he thought I was the other Peter B!
In conclusion I don't blame anyone for not waiting for me; it's a well known fact that Neil is a bit of a t*sser so I don't have high expectations of him; perhaps the Colonel needs to invest in some new specs - after all everyone knows I'm better looking and younger looking than the other Peter B, but mostly I blame myself for being a bit of a tw*t; I should have just stuck my gloves in my pocket, joined the others and sorted them out later.
Peter Buss
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