I fought the train.....
SimonAH
Posts: 3,730
Glorious sunny day this morning, not warm (the ice from defrosting the freezer on Friday evening is still winking at me from the patio) but blue skies and little wind.
Fruit of my loins is head deep in a netbook doing something saccharine cute with what are apparently called ‘Moshi Monsters’ (well she is seven) and the ball & chain is equally supine on the sofa reading from her Kindle.
Right.
“Come on you lot, get dressed, we’re going for a ride!” cue “Dad, do we have to?” answer “Yes, yes we do.”
Tottle across town and join the canal path which winds its way about six miles down to Newport dropping 250 feet in fourteen “Whees” (short little drops past locks etc). On average these are pretty steep, around one in three.
Little girl cheers up massively going down these and really starts to enjoy herself (especially once I reveal the pocket full of sweets I packed :-D ).
Sunshine, ducks, swans, moorhens, walkers and runners. A smile on everyone’s face – what more could you want?
We have a spot of lunch and head to the station for the one stop back up to Cwmbran.
“You should ride back Daddy, Mummy and I will take the train”
“Works for me!”
“Bet you can’t beat us home”
They have four minutes to the train leaving, a ten minute train journey and a five or six minutes ride from the station to the house.
I leap to the pedals and clip in perfectly, launch from the pavement into the road in a blur of black and silver DHB, the snickety snick of 105 gearing dropping into the littlest ring the only audible noise above the whir of the contis on the blacktop.
Dance past cars like a Berlin Courier and lay down the hammer toward the M4 and the start of the canal path (stopping only for three red lights. Feck).
Squeezing through the anti motorcycle barriers I’m on to the track and gravel is spitting from my treads whilst startled moorhens are diving for cover as I lay down a streak of pure fury.
Joggers and dog walkers would have had to launch themselves into the water or climb trees to avoid my eye watering velocity had I not politely warned them of my approach and several times come to a complete halt to allow some fat velour wearer to get their strategically permed rat-on-a-string to the side of the path.
Again and again my cry of “coming past on your left” alerted lesser cyclists to allow me to blister through leaving them with nothing but a gentle rocking from my shockwave, the sight of my particularly fine backside and the wistful dream that one day, with dedication, they too could unleash that much raw power onto the track.
The whees kick in as the canal mirrors the awesome Col de Malpas running parallel to the right. First one with a breather, then two with a breather, then three, then a merciless succession of lung wrenching hikes with barely enough flat between them to change gears.
Finally I burst into Cwmbran like a cyclist version of the Bat out of Hell album cover, leaping from canal to road by the Pets at Home store. Here the CX shows her versatility as, tucked deep into the drops with the tyres seemingly just kissing the tarmac, I thunder toward home like an American muscle car released from the twisties onto a straight bit of road.
Thighs pumping like conrods I swoop past the Weatherspoons and, catching the final set of lights by the skin of my scrotum, I hop the pavement onto my drive and, sure of victory, lay my hand on the door handle.
Which is unlocked.
“Hello darling, that was quick!” says my darling wife “we’ve only just literally got home”
Bloody dogs.
Next time I’m fitting a cowcatcher to the front of the bike and flicking the little feckers into the water as I go.
Fruit of my loins is head deep in a netbook doing something saccharine cute with what are apparently called ‘Moshi Monsters’ (well she is seven) and the ball & chain is equally supine on the sofa reading from her Kindle.
Right.
“Come on you lot, get dressed, we’re going for a ride!” cue “Dad, do we have to?” answer “Yes, yes we do.”
Tottle across town and join the canal path which winds its way about six miles down to Newport dropping 250 feet in fourteen “Whees” (short little drops past locks etc). On average these are pretty steep, around one in three.
Little girl cheers up massively going down these and really starts to enjoy herself (especially once I reveal the pocket full of sweets I packed :-D ).
Sunshine, ducks, swans, moorhens, walkers and runners. A smile on everyone’s face – what more could you want?
We have a spot of lunch and head to the station for the one stop back up to Cwmbran.
“You should ride back Daddy, Mummy and I will take the train”
“Works for me!”
“Bet you can’t beat us home”
They have four minutes to the train leaving, a ten minute train journey and a five or six minutes ride from the station to the house.
I leap to the pedals and clip in perfectly, launch from the pavement into the road in a blur of black and silver DHB, the snickety snick of 105 gearing dropping into the littlest ring the only audible noise above the whir of the contis on the blacktop.
Dance past cars like a Berlin Courier and lay down the hammer toward the M4 and the start of the canal path (stopping only for three red lights. Feck).
Squeezing through the anti motorcycle barriers I’m on to the track and gravel is spitting from my treads whilst startled moorhens are diving for cover as I lay down a streak of pure fury.
Joggers and dog walkers would have had to launch themselves into the water or climb trees to avoid my eye watering velocity had I not politely warned them of my approach and several times come to a complete halt to allow some fat velour wearer to get their strategically permed rat-on-a-string to the side of the path.
Again and again my cry of “coming past on your left” alerted lesser cyclists to allow me to blister through leaving them with nothing but a gentle rocking from my shockwave, the sight of my particularly fine backside and the wistful dream that one day, with dedication, they too could unleash that much raw power onto the track.
The whees kick in as the canal mirrors the awesome Col de Malpas running parallel to the right. First one with a breather, then two with a breather, then three, then a merciless succession of lung wrenching hikes with barely enough flat between them to change gears.
Finally I burst into Cwmbran like a cyclist version of the Bat out of Hell album cover, leaping from canal to road by the Pets at Home store. Here the CX shows her versatility as, tucked deep into the drops with the tyres seemingly just kissing the tarmac, I thunder toward home like an American muscle car released from the twisties onto a straight bit of road.
Thighs pumping like conrods I swoop past the Weatherspoons and, catching the final set of lights by the skin of my scrotum, I hop the pavement onto my drive and, sure of victory, lay my hand on the door handle.
Which is unlocked.
“Hello darling, that was quick!” says my darling wife “we’ve only just literally got home”
Bloody dogs.
Next time I’m fitting a cowcatcher to the front of the bike and flicking the little feckers into the water as I go.
FCN 5 belt driven fixie for city bits
CAADX 105 beastie for bumpy bits
Litespeed L3 for Strava bits
Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast.
CAADX 105 beastie for bumpy bits
Litespeed L3 for Strava bits
Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast.
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Comments
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What an anti-climax but a brilliant read
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i fairly frequently race my other half across london - tube & train vs bike... I always get back first and often have time to put the bike in the shed and shower....Do not write below this line. Office use only.0
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Nice going
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FCN 2-4.
"What happens when the hammer goes down, kids?"
"It stays down, Daddy."
"Exactly."0 -
Unbelievable.....
....you swooped past a Weatherspoons and didn't stop. How much more glorious would your victory have been if you had squeezed in a sly pint too.
Nice story though. In 40 years time the sprog will look back and be glad of days like this.Nobody told me we had a communication problem0 -
SimonAH wrote:Wen't for a ride with the family, raced them on a train on the way back, I am a looser, the end.Currently riding a Whyte T130C, X0 drivetrain, Magura Trail brakes converted to mixed wheel size (homebuilt wheels) with 140mm Fox 34 Rhythm and RP23 suspension. 12.2Kg.0
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Great story. We need more like this.Sometimes parts break. Sometimes you crash. Sometimes it’s your fault.0
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The Beginner wrote:I am a looser
A looser what?Sometimes parts break. Sometimes you crash. Sometimes it’s your fault.0 -
The Beginner wrote:Wittily shortened SimonAH's post. Spelled both "went" and "loser" incorrectly. Drowned in a tsunami of irony." Ben
Bikes: Donhou DSS4 Custom | Condor Italia RC | Gios Megalite | Dolan Preffisio | Giant Bowery '76
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ben_h_ppcc/
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/photos/143173475@N05/0 -
Brilliant stuff.Food Chain number = 4
A true scalp is not only overtaking someone but leaving them stopped at a set of lights. As you, who have clearly beaten the lights, pummels nothing but the open air ahead. ~ 'DondaddyD'. Player of the Unspoken Game0 -
SimonAH wrote:Again and again my cry of “coming past on your left” alerted lesser cyclists to allow me to blister through leaving them with nothing but a gentle rocking from my shockwave,
Good story, well written and a nice twist at the end.
But why, oh why do people keep right on cycle paths and pavements?
It is always left and pass on the right in this Country. Or, it used to be.None of the above should be taken seriously, and certainly not personally.0 -
daviesee wrote:SimonAH wrote:Again and again my cry of “coming past on your left” alerted lesser cyclists to allow me to blister through leaving them with nothing but a gentle rocking from my shockwave,
Good story, well written and a nice twist at the end.
But why, oh why do people keep right on cycle paths and pavements?
It is always left and pass on the right in this Country. Or, it used to be.
Might be in Scotland :P0 -
Well, there's your problem. You should have kept it in the big ring rather than dropping it onto the granny. You may also find using a smaller rear cog might help tooSimonAH wrote:I leap to the pedals and clip in perfectly, launch from the pavement into the road in a blur of black and silver DHB, the snickety snick of 105 gearing dropping into the littlest ring the only audible noise above the whir of the contis on the blacktop.
Nice write up though.FCN3: Titanium Qoroz.0 -
Rick Chasey wrote:daviesee wrote:SimonAH wrote:Again and again my cry of “coming past on your left” alerted lesser cyclists to allow me to blister through leaving them with nothing but a gentle rocking from my shockwave,
Good story, well written and a nice twist at the end.
But why, oh why do people keep right on cycle paths and pavements?
It is always left and pass on the right in this Country. Or, it used to be.
Might be in Scotland :P
If that's what it'll take! None of the above should be taken seriously, and certainly not personally.0 -
awesome, nice write up (or right hup as some might say)FCN = 40
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Superb!First love - Genesis Equilibrium 20
Dirty - Forme Calver CX Sport
Quickie - Scott CR1 SL HMX
Notable ex's - Kinesis Crosslight, Specialized Tricross0
