A return to the CTC Club Run on Sunday morning. I thought I was organised and left ahead of the Leisure World rendezvous with plenty of time to spare. Five minutes into le depart and I was freezing my bollocks off.
I had four layers of decent cycling clobber to keep me warm. It was at best one layer short. I didn’t have enough time to turn around and grab an extra jacket.
This was the first time riding with the CTC riders on the Raleigh electric. I was unsure how it would be welcomed amongst the cycling purists. They bloody loved it!
And why not?
We rolled out at exactly 9:30am. I had no idea where the route was taking us. It’s all lanes and fields to me.
One of the poor riders was in Covid shit recovery mode. This was his first time on two wheels after being laid low over the New Year. The golden rule of CTC Club Runs is that no one gets dropped. We had a slower ride as the poor fella found his fitness again.
The combination of the pace and my electric assist meant I was finding it hard to get the blood circulating. A bastard headwind didn’t help.
I was daydreaming along a quiet lane. I missed completely the low hanging branch.
Ah, so that’s why you wear cycling helmets.
Morning coffee was taken at the National Trust gaff at Flatford Mill. I didn’t hesitate in tucking into a large mug of hot chocolate.
It would have been rude not to snap away at *that* scene whilst I was in the area.
The decision was taken to double down and call short the ride for four of the six cyclists. It was just so bloody cold.
We headed back via Manningtree. The fields around Flatford were flooded as we gazed down from up above the ridge. This didn’t stop the Sunday walkers ploughing through all the shit.
I made my apologies and flicked the switch on the Raleigh electric. I wanted to make up time, I wanted to warm up. I returned back to base riding solo.
I passed a couple riding a cargo bike and a Brompton near to Ardleigh. The cargo bike had a couple of kids as the main luggage.
I bloody love cycling and cyclists.
For some weird reason I had the urge to play the first RATM album as my recovery music. URGH. That sounded fucking awful. I bailed after three tracks. My tastes have mellowed over the decades.
Oh year – Arsenal really are going to win the Premier League, right?