A group of more than 30 riders assembled to sample the mid-week delights of 'the chain'. We were rewarded with warm conditions and little wind, with a fantastic orangey-pink sunset cast across three different types of cloud. I couldn't help grinning as I rode out at the head of a dozen or so ‘ultras' next to the majestic Stuart Hodd, chatting about the two-up this weekend (not that I’m taking part). This is what it’s all about - those long, dark, cold, wet and windy nights throughout winter are a price worth paying for strong legs and lungs in the spring.
It was all going so well. We rolled along Bexhill front, gradually increasing the pace as we hit South Cliff. We swept smoothly down the west slope and turned onto Cooden Drive, accelerating that bit harder as Stuart edged ahead of me. The bike went through dip in the road (a 'whump' as I call them), the rear wheel rising sharply as it came out the other side. The resistance from my backside was sufficient to push the seat tube 3 inches into the frame. There was nothing for it other than to stop.
 |
| One way of freeing a carbon TCR post |
The second 'supers' group went by me as I stood on the verge, fumbling with allen keys. This is the same carbon seat post that last week was near-impossible to remove from the aluminium frame, but which I shifted with the help of hot water bottles, a metal rod and a mallet. I'd refitted it 'dry' - no fixing paste - and this was the result. Could I tighten it enough to stay in place without crushing the bloody thing? Without my glasses on I could not be sure that I had done enough, but it seemed solid and there was no sound of splintering resin...
The third 'fast' group had by now rolled past and I was faced with being the lantern rouge. I'd really been up for another good go at Spooky Hill and an attempt to stay with the ultras, but now the best I could hope for was to get there before they started back! I find it harder to ride fast without someone else to pace myself against, but I made an effort and made sure that I also enjoyed the twilight ride across the marshes. The roads were dry and the south westerly wind was not too bothersome. At the foot of Spooky Hill, two men were standing on the roof of a van, looking out over the nature reserve, presumably trying to spot a rare bird or two. I felt sure they looked at me and thought 'ah, poor bugger, he's miles behind and trying to catch up', and I guess that was true.
I began preparing myself mentally for the return leg, knowing that the light wind would push us all on a bit faster. We didn't waste much time before starting the return leg and again I took the front with Stuart, determined to stay in the front group the whole way.
It was all going so well. I was spinning out in the small front ring, so I changed up to make full use of the higher gears. Up went the chain, and over, dropping onto the crank and dragging on the road. 'Chain gone' came the shout from Stuart and the group whizzed past me as I pulled into the side. The 'supers' whooshed by moments later and I was impressed by the speed at which they went, and all the more cheesed off that I was at the side of the road again, sure to be the last back. The damn thing was wedged in the crank arm. I got it onto the big ring and pedalled it backwards, only for it to wedge in the derailleur. I pulled it forward, hands now covered in sticky black oil. It came free and I fed it onto the ring again, gently turning the crank to seat it in place. Success, but not another rider in sight!
I pressed on as hard as I could to at least catch the supers. I could see in the distance their flashing rear lights as they topped Spooky Hill, and the lights of another rider a bit further back. I rounded the bend at the nature reserve, speeding past the bird watchers again ('oh look, he's still last, but he doesn't give up does he, bless!), and getting up the slope in time to see another rider just reaching the top. Pushing on, I saw a shiny helmet and realised that I was chasing Shirley down the east slope, passing her as we reached the bend at Normans Bay.
Up ahead, another rider was disappearing around the bend, but that was the last I saw of most of the rest, overtaking Steve Denny (I think) towards the end of the ride. So, the ride was in effect two solo rides on a pleasant evening that should have seen me go much faster. Oh well… I learnt two things: one, that carbon fixing stuff is probably a good idea, and two, that I need to check the cable tension on the front derailleur *sigh*.
Meanwhile, following a number of requests, I humbly present events from a parallel universe:
THE BARON OF THE BAY
Episode 2: Binky gets the Jolly Roger
We pulled into the Star Inn, racked the bikes up alongside the door and stepped into the bar.
"I'm buying" said Stuart and the ultras placed orders for pints of this and that. "And what about you Neil?"
"Er, I don't drink really , I've got no head for it..." I spluttered, before my voice trailed to nothing under the harsh stares of the group.
"Let's try again shall we? I'll ask you what you want and you'll answer with the name of a drink - an alcoholic drink - and then you'll down it, like a good boy. Ok?"
"Yes Stuart" I said solemnly.
"Neil, what would you like to drink?"
"Er, um, I'd like a half, er, I mean a pint of guinness please. Yes, a whole pint. In a glass. Please.”
"There, that wasn't hard, was it?" said Stuart, his steely blue eyes fixing me to the spot. "Now, you sit here at the bar and wait quietly, whilst me and the boys sit over there and have a chat, ok?"
I nodded agreement and sat at the bar, waiting for my drink and for whatever was to come next. I turned to look at the gang as they guffawed with laughter, looking over at me, their shoulders shaking with mirth. I turned back to the bar just as the guinness arrived. Frankly, I was grateful for the chill of the cold black liquid, taking a long deep pull on the glass. As I put it down, I became aware of a sudden hush in the bar and a presence near my left shoulder. I looked round sharply and saw The Baron, dressed head to toe in white linen, with a black leather belt, silk tie, cane and spats.
"Good evening Neil, I'd like a word, if I may?" His voice was quiet with forced politeness and restrained violence.
"Well, actually, I'm not stopping, just having a quick drink and then getting on with the ride, and then, er..." Again, my voice trailed off as he stared at me from under the rim of his fedora. It was a look that could shatter plate glass or crumble concrete. A ghastly smile split his craggy, scarred face, revealing a mouthful of gold and green teeth.
"Shut up, you stupid boy.”
I nodded. The Baron took off his hat and rested it with his cane on the bar. A babycham arrived in a wide-rimmed glass, slice of lemon, cherry on a stick, ice cubes, pink umbrella. I looked around for whatever lady was to drink this, but to my surprise The Baron daintily picked it up, extending his little finger and pursing his lips to take a delicate sip. Any thought of laughing was out of the question, but the effort of not doing so brought me out in a sweat.
“Everything alright Neil, you look a bit warm” he whispered, teeth glinting over the rim of the glass. I nodded. “Good, good. Now, listen, do not speak. I want you to do me a favour.” Again, that smile and those teeth, and this time that unmistakeable smell of rum and tobacco, just like last time. I tried not to breath in.
“A favour Baron, of course, just ask, what can I…” His cane whipped back off the bar towards my face, the silver knob hitting me on the nose, just hard enough to make it bleed, but not to break it. His hand grabbed the back of my neck in an iron grip.
“I said ‘shut up’, didn’t I, so shut it!”
I nodded, unfortunately splashing blood over his jacket and shoes. I looked down and then up into his face, then closed my eyes and waited for the beating. The Baron took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly. I think he was counting to ten.
“There’s a shipment coming. You’re going to meet it. Are you religious?”
I shrugged. I didn’t want to move my head in case I splashed more blood on him.
“Hare Krishna. You’re a convert. You’ll find out all you need to know on page 12.” He took a slim paperback out of his inside pocket and pushed it roughly into my hands. I looked down at the book, dripping blood onto the front cover, then looked back up to see The Baron disappearing from view towards the back of the bar.
“Oh”, I said, to no-one in particular. I grabbed my drink, sloshing it onto the bar and dribbling bloody saliva into the ebony stout. A hand slapped me hard on the back.
“Oh indeed, Neil - you’re in a bit of a mess, aren’t you?” said Stuart, empty glass in hand. “Time we were off, I’d say - SADDLE UP BOYS!” I followed them out of the bar and to the bikes, feeling woozy from the guinness and the blow to the nose. I tucked the book into the back of my shorts feeling both excitement and dread at what it held in store for me. What was the shipment and where was I to take it? And why Hare Krishna..?
Next episode: Page 12 reveals its secrets…
Safe riding, Neil
No comments:
Post a Comment