An uneasy Ride of the Slipped Gears to start Saturday. I had planned a detour of a route for Anna and I, deviating slightly from the usual weekend Abberton Reservoir run.
My gears started to slip within the first five minutes. This meant that I was saddle bound for the rest of the ride, unable to showcase my mountain mule climbing style.
The route was rather lovely. Endless empty Essex lanes.
Some were slightly too empty, such as the private road that led down to the farmer’s house.
We were met by the good ‘ol Essex boy outside the gate, and some friendly words about not trusting a GPX satnvav file.
And then it all went a little WOH.
Appropriately it was along Shatters Lane, just outside of Great Wigborough.
We had no spare inners with us. What’t the point? We can’t fit them anyway. A taxi was called for as we decided to take a hit.
Or rather Anna decided to take a hit. I was getting a little chilly around the lycra edges and decided to put on my best race face and press on.
I had a text from Anna an hour later as I arrived at the pool:
In Colch. All good.
But it wasn’t all good because the silly girl missed the opportunity to get the puncture fixed in Colchester, and instead told Mr Taxi Man to keep on driving.
I put the lengths in, aware of the remarkable healing power of a swim.
The puncture woes were forgotten, until I towelled down my bits and pieces and almost punctured myself by treading in someone’s used ear bud on the floor.
And then an incredibly practical afternoon and early evening of indoor / outdoor household chores. Both sets of builders have now departed. The big clean up started up here.
I hacked away at the ivy with great joy. Once the bugger takes hold, then you become a slave to its ability to swallow up all around. I gave it an extra hard stamping down as I placed it in the garden waste bag.
Back indoors and I put my office back together after a floor and paint job. I took a moment to reflect that I have been working off the exact same office desk for 26 years now.
Productivity has fluctuated, but the desk has remained a constant. It has made the transition from pen and paper to analogue, and then to digital. It is impossible for me to calculate how many words have been based out from on top of this hardy piece of wood.
I wish that road bikes were as reliable