Friday, 9 July 2010

The San Marino Shuffle


[shuhf-uhl] Show IPA verb, -fled, -fling, noun
–verb (used without object)
1. to walk without lifting the feet or with clumsy steps and a shambling gait.
2. to scrape the feet over the floor in dancing.
3. to move clumsily (usually fol. by into ): to shuffle into one's clothes.
4. to act underhandedly or evasively with respect to a stated situation (often fol. by in, into,  or out of ): to shuffle out of one's responsibilities.
5. to intermix so as to change the relative positions of cards in a pack.
6. to attempt to stop and stay upright from high speed with a flat front tyre, whilst simultaniously shitting oneself  "San Marino Shuf-fle"
Thursday rooolllls around again. I have to admit to being a bit low this last week. Wanted to get out on Sunday, but after changing my cassette and chain, it became apparent that there were no teeth on my middle ring that wanted to play with my new chain. So I couldnt / wouldnt ride, general apathy was setting in. Other shit going on was also getting me down I have to admit, so as Thursday approached I was far from arsed about riding, even though I knew it would be the tonic I needed. Cap it all and my back has started its 12 monthly painful tightening. Funny how I only get muscular back pain once every twelve months or so. Again, I knew a ride would ease it, so why was I not arsed about going out??

Gave myself the required kick up the arse and got sorted, round to Weesters for 7 to find Wors already there and Weester nearly ready for the off too. However, faffage as usual took us to about 7.20 before we were off. We decided on our usual Winter Hill / Rivi jaunt. The climb up to Horrocks Fold soon got my legs warmed up  and before long we were setting a blistering pace up Coal Pit. Over the gate and up the path to the mast was taken at record speed. I was really really loving The climb. Funny this, but these days I seem to be enjoying my climbing much much more that I use to. I use to see climbing as a means to get to a downhill, but now, I relish the challenge of a climb and also the hard work involved. Must be my masochistic side coming out as I get older... be getting into bondage next... It seems to be the old ones who enjoy it, judge's, MP's and what not. 
We were passed at the top of the hill bu a car with 3 young lads it in who headed up to the top of the access road, Odd I thought, anyway we climbed up and found the car parked up at the end of the tarmac, we joined the singletrack and as we turned the corner there they were, two of them taking pictures of their mate who was lying on the floor, pulling up his top. Now, you will recall, Wors and I have had experience of strange male outdoor activities, however we were both stumped as to what was going on here.
I took the chute for a change and it was a peice of piss really, the rutted off camber run down to the gate still gives me the willies though. Belmont road to the pigeon tower, where we passed about 12 or so other jocksters all out enjoying the night and we climbed up to the Pike. Nice lie down at the top to cool down and catch the view before we went straight over the edge to the gate, here my new chain decided to come off the big ring and wrap itself inside the crank arm and the cogs. Brute force and ignorance couldn't get it out so Wors had a go and managed to free it instantly.
Up the Kennels and then to the top of San Marino. Now, for some reason, this run has claimed my tubes on a regular basis, I think I must be up to 8 in the last 8 months. The ground was dusty but much firmer than recently with the rain, so we set of at a scorching pace, the first few jumps all sailed over, just getting to bog monster and I Did the shuffle. BANG! front tyre gone, instantly deflated whilst in full flight and hitting the rough stuff. Suffice to say that there was a bit of a brown eye twitch trying to stop. I did find that emitting a high pitched girly scream helped tremendously in my deceleration and I intend to use this on future such occasions. The funny thing was that Weester stopped behind me, then Wors came to a halt, moaning "whats up now!" only to hear the immeiate high pitch tell tale whine of all the air escaping from his rear tyre :).
Tubes changes sharpish as the biters were out, and I was their number one target, we set off down the run, Weester taking a crafty shortcut at the turn and rejoining the path just in front of me. 
Some ignorant bastard has repaired the kissing gate too, meaning we had to shoulder the bikes over the fence to get to the road. Spin along to the road home.
As I suspected, just the tonic. I feel alive and ready for the world after a great ride out with good mates. Food for the soul.

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