April 14th, 2009
There Is A Light That Never Goes Out
Deja Vu
Went mountain biking on Sunday for the first time in a very very long time. Got dropped off in Ribchester where I first went off-roading many years ago, then rode the first half of the Ronnie Davies memorial ride we did last year after my uncle died. Explored a sheep track that became a dead end and meant a 15 minute carry back up the fell through the scratchy heather cursing the extra 2 degrees of foot tilt in Specialized shoes when negotiating an off-camber track. Then down the back of the fell again on a proper track which only left me slightly broken with a 12 mile ride home. On a Five Spot. Kirsty says that only the tandem would have been a more inappropriate choice.
Ride past pub. Turn round and ride back to pub. Ask for a coke and a packet of crisps. No crisps but he can do me a basket of chips for – get this! – 50p. Inhale chips. Call Kirsty and report on broken but replete status. She is on way to stables anyway and we arrange a rendevous which gives me just 5 more miles of country lanes to ride. Arranged rendevous point justs happen to be at the top of the valley so 5 miles of, on average, uphill. I meet with the voiture balan with aching joints, skin scratched to fuck that you just know is going to hurt when scrubbing peat off shins in the shower, slightly sunburnt and thighs aching from the lactic.
A grand day out, but is it wrong to actually enjoy that lactic acid burn?
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