17 December 2008
with grim determination
After a long run of cold crisp night rides we've been due a wet one. Despite Chris' offers of mince pies it was only the pair of us that ventured out. About 2 hours in and I'd reached saturation point. There was no purpose in trying to avoid gloopy puddles or worrying about the cake in my side pocket.
Both of us had Mayhem flash backs, but at least we were still riding. The rain eased just enough for a brandy and cake stop but the mud was relentless. How can a substance be so wet and slimy yet made entirely of grit. The nights silence was punctuated by the grinding screeching of my brakes. The noise they make bares no correlation to their stopping power!
Stood in the back garden, last night, cleaning my bike down, in the cold and wet I had a perverse sense of satisfaction. Or was it just an excuse for more cake?