Saddle Torture

After my rub down on Thursday, I had a walk-jog-walk in the woods yesterday and spent most of the yesterday evening trying not to be pre-occupied by my so called recovering calf tear. Watching a scary movie, I supped my glass of British red wine (8.8%) and had to remember that it wasn't blackcurrant juice. This morning after 2 croissants, coffee and a heavy downpour, I was in that 'will I or won't I' dilemma. A bit like having two margarines on the go at the same time. Two or three miles didn't seem too far, surely?

In the end I adopted my own advice which was that the speed of an injury recovery is partly (or probably) mostly dependent on the patience of the athlete. So, instead I decided to go out on the bike as there was no wind and calfs are only bit players when it comes to pedalling.

As it turned out, I had a really enjoyable 2 hours to Newcastle and back, with a slight tailwind developing on the way back. Snapped a photo of a bus belching out clouds of exhaust. The sticker on the back said 'Cleaner Engine, Cleaner Air' - cleaner than what....? The potholes were all over the place as I ate up the road but I imagined I was riding the Paris-Roubaix and that this sort of saddle torture was par for the course. It was, therefore, with some irony that I actually found myself riding along a cobbled street before turning back.

I stopped at a corner shop on the outskirts of the City for a can of Irn Bru and choc bar and happened to meet the former owner of Steels Bike Shop in Gosforth. We had a good natter about mostly nothing but on the way back I reminded myself about the racing team Thornaby CRT-Been Bag he used to sponsor and had a few ideas about re-forming the club under that banner.

The ipod was on shuffle and I made my way back to a strange mix which included Harry Chapin, Rush, Katy Perry, and Donna Summer. Nice to get back out, whatever the sport and whatever the music.