The return of the Prophet
A little over a month ago, I bought some replacement shock bushings for the Cannondale. I took the bike apart only to discover they were the wrong size. GAH! The following day, a replacement for the knackered headset arrived. I took half the old one out, then hit my thumb with a hammer (the moral here being to use the right bloody tool for the job), threw a bit of a strop and gave up for the evening.
It’d been hanging on the work-stand, looking sorry for itself for weeks. Yesterday I finally caved in and finished the job. The bushings are still wonky and I still haven’t adjusted the front mech to allow me to use the granny ring, but it’s bike shaped again. So today I went out for a quick spin up Leckhampton.
All that time off the bike, combined with the excesses of christmas have taken their toll on my fitness. I was painfully slow and my legs were screaming
WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!? all the way to the top.
It was worth the pain though, because the descent back home was ace. I wasn’t riding especially well, or pushing the outer limits. Nope, it was just plain mud-splattered, two wheeled fun. I rolled off the top, boosting down the rocky chute, before jumping into the steep trails down to the lime kilns, getting mighty sideways down a new trail near the s-bends, bursting out into the open and flying off the natural rise in the grass before rolling down to the car-park and onwards to the old tramway.
I nearly lost it on the roots at the top (as per usual), before pinning it down the steps, racing through the switch-back, holding it high out of the rut, dropping back in and nearly high-siding into the hedge. It’s a good job I met the smiley lady jogging up the trail where it widens out or it could have been messy. Now, fly off the step and pinball down the rest of the trail.
Fun. My legs hurt.