Not in the Script

Last night it rained as far as I can tell relentlessly through the hours of darkness. This morning there were small ponds where there are normally puddles and lakes where there are normally small ponds. You could tell riding to work was going to be fun just by looking out of the window into the grim grey light of day. Added to the allure of the commute is the fact that they have dug up one of the junctions to carry out some more works near the hospital. The result is traffic queues of monumental proportions and lots of drivers bored at being stuck in traffic.

Today as I scooted up to the set of lights in question, my usual white line route up the middle of the road was occupied by cars making the only way forward up the inside. I could see the lights were red. There was no rush to get to them. They weren’t going to change any time soon. So I cruised up to the junction and weaved through a large puddle at something ridiculously slow like 5mph. Which was fine. Until something hidden underwater swallowed my front wheel and pitched me over the bars.

My downfall into a foul pool of diesel water and filth was joyously observed by a queue of motoristss smug in their mobile cocoons. I didn’t splash about in my misery. I grabbed the bike and jumped back on it quicker than a greased ferret going down a drainpipe. Then sat there dripping and shivering until the lights changed. I shall have to revisit the spot when we’ve had a few dry days to try and identify my nemesis. No damage from the crash apart from to my pride and an aching elbow and knee. Mental note to avoid that off again in future…

Author: Cris Bloomfield

Usually mountain biking in the North.

One thought on “Not in the Script”

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