Posted by: kathandroger | January 2, 2013

Wet Wet Wet.

We are back in the UK on our annual holiday with a large group of friends and their families.  The numbers vary but today we are about 25, all housed in an old big slate semi in the Lake District. This is one of the most lovely areas of England, world renowned for the beauty of the lakes  and mountains. But can it rain!! The world renowned beauty had been largely obscured by an overwhelming cloud of unrelenting moisture, varying between a light soaking and hail which would flatten cats and dogs. The old house has shivered in the onslaught, and to venture outside is a mission of hopeless recklessness. So what have the girls done today, all of them forty something and old enough to know better? Why, a nice bike ride in the hills! Mind you, that is what they told us chaps. I reckon a recce of the pubs may reveal another destination.

I went on a bikeride myself a couple of days ago, all alone to escape the hoards of kids in the house. Mistake! After a couple of miles into the hills the inevitable drizzle began, encouraged by the near galeforce winds. A rapid ascent of a mountain track was halted by a sudden freedom of pedalling and the dreaded sensation of a broken chain, miles from civilisation. Bugger Bugger. But I always carry a chain tool with me, so after upending the bike in deep  mud, removing my thick gloves (the temperature was above freezing, but only marginally so),and after a few minutes coating my hands in thick black oil, the chain was repaired. I carefully cleaned my filthy hands on the freely available moss all around, congratulated myself on my efficient repair, and made to resume my journey. Only then did I discover I had left a loop in the chain and the wheels wouldn’t turn! Expletives much worse than the former echoed around the deserted wet valley.Nothing for it but to repeat the process after breaking the chain again. Not a happy chap, but after the second repair I thought I would have a well earned drink of water. Guess who had forgotten his water bottle? Rain all around, bubbling brooks abounding, and puddles everywhere, but nowt to drink. What crime had I committed to deserve this fate? Nothing for it but to turn round and make a solemn return to the land of warmth and dryness. But not before the rain had penetrated every little corner of my person. How is it that rain can fall upwards and reach even the most delicate regions when cycling. Soggy parts and battered morale, and only ridicule on my return. Perhaps the sun will shine tomorrow.


Responses

  1. Whom the gods love they first make mad… Pauline

  2. Pauline has left a note of constellation…. I’ll offer a tip… hold it down here next year… we’ve had two nice sunny [but cool] days so far this year… good for cycling… but no Coniston Inn or Drunken Duck to aim for… just some nice tabacs!!
    Tip 2: to stop the rain falling upwards when cycling… first fit mudguards!
    Went on a long cycle ride once with no mudguards… rain came… donned my cape…. BIG mistake…. all water and mud was concentrated INSIDE the cape! I should have sat on the back of the cape… I know that NOW!!


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