Wednesday night ride for a change.
The omens were not good. Only Toss, Clarkster and Wors out as Weester was being a girl and sulking. Pikey was late from work.
100 yards in our sojourn and Tossers bike is squeeling like a cricket. This was soon sorted out by the chain snapping. No problem, I had a power link for him. Fixed the chain but the mech was wobbling around with no tension. Looks like these fancy Sram mechs have a spring where shimano ones dont. So thats him fucked. The start of the problems.
Up past Horrock Fold, Ciggy Tunnel and through the Forest to Holdens Farm. Clarkey was blowing his bollocks off, so we elected to blast down San Marino. I set off first but had to stop as my pocket was open. Wors and Clarkey passed me. Caught Clarkey up and was following him. Just before bog monster, over he goes. perfect insync cartwheel with bike still clipped to his tumbling body. Front wheel had gone into a deep puddle and stopped him dead. Poor lad went face first into the rut, fortuanlty his shoulders hit the side and his face was spared contact with the ground. Shame really as it would have improved his looks. A few moments prostrate on the ground while I got his bike out of the way and he started to groan. Shoulder was evidently a touch sore. So on we go, me behind him, tentativly making a painfully slow descent with Clarky in full on Tripod mode. We see 4 sets of light ascending from the gate. I at first thought that It might be Wors coming back up to check if we were ok, but no it was some other jocksters. As we approach, they kindly pull over to let us past (mistakenly thinking that we would have some speed behind us) as had a grandstand view of Clarkey going striaght over yet again. This time it was his knee that made a deep resonating thud as it hit a rock. I seem to recall him shouting out mid air "AGAIN!!" before landing in a heap. The two lads who had stopped were proper gentlement. Not one murmer of laughter. Even asked if he was alright. I fear, that had I been in their situation, I woudl have crumpled to the floor gripping my sides.
A vey broken and battered Clarkey then pushed his bike to the bottom and we limped home along Belmont Road. Cap it all Wors gets a puncture in the ginnel.
Back to Tossers for fire and 5 bottles of Ale and recant the tales of Clarkey's offs to Toss. I finally could stop biting my lip and pissed my sides at the story.
Good night out all up.