Not the individual, the brother-in-law, but his carbon fibre ‘Giant’ road bike. 1500 pounds worth.
A beautiful evening. 8pm.
Beforehand, Johnston had been our repose from 5pm until 7pm; soporific until the thick creamy coffees arrived to jolt us out if our durum-wheat-and-tomato-basil-parmesan fusions (in various guises and combinations) we had drawn from the hug of the oversized plates. Delicious. Trattoria Roma. Check it out.
The staff kindly presented my sister-in-law with a birthday cake (during which time her 9 year-old son almost blew our cover by declaring that her birthday had been “two months ago”). I digress.
So I am in the slipstream of John’s Giant; that’s only on the flats and the up-hill – he carved up the downhills, opening up ans feasting on them. And who could blame him? With a grand-and-a-half under his control, incising the pleasantly humid and heavy June air.
I was obliging as tour operator (he was a guest, after all) forgetting that his road bike pursuits were antithetical to each distant compass directon I was indexing with my Gore-gloved finger.
Surprisingly, the rain held off, more of a pleasure for the young campers at South Newton, and a nice film of sweat was worn by both mountain and road cyclist alike.
56 minutes = 19.72K on a Saturday evening during which time I experienced ‘3.’ gear combinations I hadn’t previously.
Route to Follow