Last Sunday I took the bike out. It was a sunny morning and I thought to join up with a passing Sportive. However, I had got the date wrong, so there was no one on the road, so I hung a right up into the low hills on a route called 'the three fords'. The route, strangely, crosses 3 fords and is around 35 miles. There is a low wooden bridge that crosses the third and you can take this rather than ploughing through the water.
When we were in Chamonix earlier this summer, one of the lads, Mr C, came down heavily on his bike. It was where the end of the wooden deck meets the road. As I took the bridge I was nice and upright and taking it steady (you know what's coming), but at the end of the deck where the plank was chamfered, my slick front tyre slid rapidly away from me and my downward and forward trajectory toward the tarmac and grit was irresistible. I thought this was a carbon copy of Mr C's downfall. This time I didn't laugh. Ragged skin freshly bloodied but with all bones intact, the bike was fine so I rode on, the flies taking no time at all to target the messy wound on hand and elbow. Happily the Gothic jersey remained intact, but always a shock to have 11 stone and added momentum coming down on top of your extremities. I can remember every bike crash I've had: This will be the 6th since 1979. Always leaves a wee scar in your psyche, and another on your elbow and sometimes thigh, sometimes shoulder.
So this week I have taken it easy with some steady mid distance runs. I volunteered on Wednesday to taxi the youngster plus one to the Wallington 10k. In between torrential downpours, most of the 150 competitors managed to stay dry. Disappointed that the café wasn't open at Wallington. The young one came in 2nd (W).
We gave up waiting for the prize giving. Took some snaps though - see gallery.
Link - https://www.flickr.com/photos/34070057@N06/sets/