This morning I decided I would forego the pleasure of riding a bike which sounds like it’s about to spew it’s bearings all over the side of the road in a black oily mess. The days choice for the bike to work was the ‘cross bike, which by all reasoning should be a sound choice with it’s sporty position and gayer wheels. Pumped the knobblies up so they were as firm a firm thing and headed off. Almost immediately I notice the stems not quite straight and the saddles a bit lower that I like it, but there’s no point stopping to adjust them now.

Second set of traffic lights on the way to work and some one tries to kill me. Never one to wait in traffic and having ridden the same road to work for the last four years I know the light sequence inside out. When you know the timings you can be off the line from the lights as soon as they change, which was exactly what I did this morning. This would have been fine except for the stupid cow in the small green car that jumped the red lights coming from my left and then turned right across the junction…

I think it’s only the fact that I was concentrating on looking out for numpties, that I was centre line riding and I’d gunned it from the line that I didn’t end up through her windscreen with several thousands pounds of bespoke and beautiful bike acting as a ground anchor between the tarmac and the front of her car. Having spotted her special move coming at me, I stomped the pedals and swerved and she just missed me. After that, nearly mowing down a still hungover student staggering down the cycle path using the railings for upright stability seemed pretty run of the mill.

Author: Cris Bloomfield

Usually mountain biking in the North.

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