Roll up, roll up, read all about it. Man cycles up hill, is 10th last from a field of 45; claims small victory. Beats 14 year old by one second. Cause for celebration? 8mins 31secs. 35th out of 45 starters. The small victories are the precious ones. It was a much more disciplined ride yesterday at Claybank up the Jurassic scarp of the North York Moors. Off the seat for a full ride almost and just stared at the road until the end. In the rain. Like Pedro Delgado (only 30 years older).
I cannot recall if this is the 2nd time I've ridden the event or the 3rd, but I was surprised to see that the first time was 5 years ago. I didn't realise how long this sort of asinine stupidity had been going on.
Other than Sundays Tour De Trossachs (yes, a real event; a 28 mile hilly time trial that includes the Dukes Pass at Aberfoyle), I have no more two wheeled escapades planned for the year. I feel the need to dig out the trainers and get some more running done, now that the Achilles is sorted. There's a perfectly good cross country season out there.
The tadpoles are nearly gone. I've fed them and watered them most days from early June. Some (that are no size at all and look like a 'snotter' with legs) have insisted they leave the garden post hole a.k.a 'puddle' and forage around and about. I've even almost stood on a couple (or the same one). Since the sad demise of my old running partner, meg the dog, a month ago at the ripe old age of 15, we have had some cats prowling around. One has been in the house twice now, uninvited. Best keep the doors shut.
I have completed the 'Canticle for Liebowitz', a sci-fi classic and one of my dads favourite books. I have moved onto 'The Old Ways' by Robert McFarlane, a kind of travelogue. Halfway through, a steady read, not much going on, but very nice prose. Happy October!