Spinning

Let's go out for an easy spin, he said. In my head, this translated into "let's go out for a easy tootle". But as it turned out, spinning isn't all that easy, or at least not when you're not accustomed to it.

We planned to do 40K. Do you ever get those times when things just don't feel quite right before you go out for a ride? This was one of those times. I was knackered after work and not particularly on it, but I'm used to that. The trick with that is not to sit down. But the fact that none of my little pre-ride routines went as usual made me feel a bit twitchy: being a bit OCD about these things I'm usually careful to observe the little rules I set for myself, from which shoe goes on first to which side of the bike I'm on when we walk down the drive. None of it was as it usually is.

The first 20K was fine, concerned with mentally shifting gears from "easy tootle" to "spin" and ignoring tired legs. Then we reached a junction which we needed to go straight over: a car driver opposite was dithering about which way to go and at the last minute indicated to turn right directly into Sid's path. I shouted a warning to him as I could see he hadn't seen it, so he had to slam on the brakes and couldn't unclip quickly enough, so hit the deck in his dodgy right knee.

We took a few minutes and then set off again, circumnavigating the grounds of the rather well-appointed Beaufort Polo Club. It's a nice route and one to remember. Then there was some tool in a Range Rover (as is often the case in my experience) who went past us, clearly took his or her eye off the road and then drove up onto the grass verge just in front of us and, presumably in a state of some embarrassment, went roaring off up the lane to make up for it, taking no account of the blind bend and the cyclist coming the other way, who was very nearly twatted. This sort of thing used to be very common when we did all our training in Kent, but here in the West County where people are generally much more pleasant and relaxed, it is more unusual.

There followed a couple more instances of car drivers not really slowing down enough to squeeze past us on country lanes, and then the final insult: cycling up a hill I got smacked in the face by an insect (again not unusual) only this time I got stung on the nose for my trouble.

At this point we decided to cut the ride short and head home before anything else happened. 32.5k. Sometimes you just gotta cut your losses and focus on getting home alive.