arallsopp
Post of The Year 2009 winner
- Location
- Bromley, Kent
Sometimes I hate riding a recumbent...
After an absolutely marvellous day's ride with CC, I was left with high spirits and only 60 of a 300km day to meet my training schedule. Not wanting to venture into country lanes after dark (high hedges and mental drivers) I opted for the bright lights of suburban SE London looping between Croydon, Beckenham and West Wickham. Within 6 miles of home and at around 20km a go, each loop was taking just under an hour and apart from the odd horn, the first two were fine.
Still riding high on the day's companionship, I set off for my final loop to find it was club kicking out time.
Unhindered by increasing shouts from kerb side revellers, cone throwing on the outskirts of Croydon was enough to turn me round. I battled my way back along the bus lane to Wickham, avoiding double deckers and trams which seemed intent on disgorging obstacles like some drunken rendering of space invaders.
Only a few miles from home I neared a bus stop with two couples in. For whatever reason, the men took umbrage at the approaching bike, and chased into the road to block my progress.
Shedding speed and stability in a very inelegant manner, I managed to pull around them, but the bottle lobbed at my back completely caught me off guard. Catching me on the back of the neck, it fell into the rear mech and exploded somewhere under my back tire. Needless to say, I went down hard.
Reclaiming the bike and getting to the edge of the road, I turned the corner on foot to check over the bent. To be fair, with the exception of a 15 degree twist in the bars and a lot of glass in the rear tire, she was fine.
Still, too jumpy to ride, I walked the rest of the way home. Cleaning things up before bed for fear that Mrs Arallsopp wouldn't let me out on it again, I realise tonight that she wouldn't need to. I just don't want to get back on the bike.
They may have done the same thing to an upright, I guess, in which case, sometimes I hate riding. Lord alone knows why a bike should be a target.
After an absolutely marvellous day's ride with CC, I was left with high spirits and only 60 of a 300km day to meet my training schedule. Not wanting to venture into country lanes after dark (high hedges and mental drivers) I opted for the bright lights of suburban SE London looping between Croydon, Beckenham and West Wickham. Within 6 miles of home and at around 20km a go, each loop was taking just under an hour and apart from the odd horn, the first two were fine.
Still riding high on the day's companionship, I set off for my final loop to find it was club kicking out time.
Unhindered by increasing shouts from kerb side revellers, cone throwing on the outskirts of Croydon was enough to turn me round. I battled my way back along the bus lane to Wickham, avoiding double deckers and trams which seemed intent on disgorging obstacles like some drunken rendering of space invaders.
Only a few miles from home I neared a bus stop with two couples in. For whatever reason, the men took umbrage at the approaching bike, and chased into the road to block my progress.
Shedding speed and stability in a very inelegant manner, I managed to pull around them, but the bottle lobbed at my back completely caught me off guard. Catching me on the back of the neck, it fell into the rear mech and exploded somewhere under my back tire. Needless to say, I went down hard.
Reclaiming the bike and getting to the edge of the road, I turned the corner on foot to check over the bent. To be fair, with the exception of a 15 degree twist in the bars and a lot of glass in the rear tire, she was fine.
Still, too jumpy to ride, I walked the rest of the way home. Cleaning things up before bed for fear that Mrs Arallsopp wouldn't let me out on it again, I realise tonight that she wouldn't need to. I just don't want to get back on the bike.
They may have done the same thing to an upright, I guess, in which case, sometimes I hate riding. Lord alone knows why a bike should be a target.
