…and the Wailers

With a trip to Legoland planned over the weekend I had decided to stay on the flat for the respectable 23k (1hr 33min) so as to avoid any fractures and plastercasts that see me as immobile as one of the tiny figures whose plastic world we would be visiting; and delivering a delicious irony.

Just ahead of South Newton I made the return call to my cousin, but the reception was fragmented: I had a poor signal and the wind was whipping around the nylon housing my extended arm; he was at the Wailers gig.

A windy night but none if the rain which has been burying Britain and making headlines.

Upon my return – fully aware of the assortment of USB and other digital accoutrements scattered across the study floor, necessary and to be packed for our vacation – I rather guiltily began to prep the bike with warm soapy water and give her what may well be the first piece of attention in months! I even ventured to Tesco with the secondary aim (primarily it was to buy a ‘Tesco’s Own’ black Canon printer cartridge, which don’t appear to last that long) of buying a bottle of ‘Muc Off’ and dowsing her – showering her in at least a third of its contents.

You see, I had spotted light dust residues across a few links on the chain. Guilt.

Upon my return, as the cases lie ajar, contents spinning around in the washing machine, the first decent cuppa for days, I will strip her down and, feeling her smoothness, her rough edges and her threaded crevices; remembering how she led me across hairline paths, brought me home soaked, sang as we glided through balmy glades, and grimaced beneath a paper-thin moon, a smudge amidst early evening November stars ..

I will salute and say “Thank you”.

Route (to follow)

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