Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 989.

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The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 989
by Angharad

Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
-Dormouse-001.jpg

Amazingly, it was actually Saturday. Had I known I could have stayed in bed a little longer, but now I was up I boiled the kettle, sorted the washing and started the first load. It was a bank holiday on Monday, so I’d have Simon for a longer weekend and so would the kids. If I play my cards right, I might even be able to wangle an hour or two for a bike ride–hmmm.

Tea and toast consumed, I cracked on with the chores. Trish was the first down. She managed to help herself to some cereal and sat eating it while I switched on the bread machine. She was a little miffed that she didn’t get to do it herself.

Next down was Meems, and Trish helped her get her cereal. The two boys happened after Meems began chomping her way through the milk and oats. “Where’s Livvie?” I asked, surely she wasn’t still asleep?

“She’s cŵtching with Daddy,” Trish finished her cereal, “Can I make some toast?”

“Use the sliced loaf–how come you two aren’t?”

“We were hungry and she said she could talk him into taking us out in the Jaguar.” Trish popped the thick sliced wholemeal into the toaster. “You want one o’ these?” she asked of Meems, who nodded back. “Can I eat mine with some ‘nana?”

“Does Meems want some too?” I asked and she nodded, still chewing her cereal. I cut a banana in half and told Trish to use one part for her and the other for Meems. I watched as she juggled each piece of the hot toast out of the toaster and onto a plate where she buttered it. Then she thinly sliced the banana with the knife and gave one to Meems and took the other herself.

I congratulated her on her effort and explained that the next time she did it, if she used a fork to mash the banana, it was even sweeter. She indicated she understood even though her mouth was full. Then, in a pause before the next mouthful, she explained she’d thought of that, but it would make the plate very messy. She chomped on the next bit of her toastie.

“I think the machine will cope with that, kiddo, and you could always rinse it off while it’s still soft–if it dries, then it could be a problem.” It seems to cope with dried on egg yolk, so it does well, anyway.

I made myself another tea while the boys bickered over which cereal they would eat. I made irritated noises and they quietened down. They asked if they could play on their bikes and as the weather didn’t look too bad, I agreed. This suited the girls because it reduced the competition for their father’s attention. I wondered if I could forsake my solitary ride to escort the boys a bit, so they could go a bit further than they usually did. I knew they were quite happy to zip up and down the bike path near the house, but a ride with a hill and a challenge of distance might make it more interesting for them.

Julie was the last of the youngsters to come down, she followed Livvie, who high fived with Trish and then Meems, and they all giggled. Non verbals for, ‘mission accomplished’ I suspect.

Julie ate some fruit, she’s got this idea in her head that she’s fat. She is rounding out a bit, but that’s the hormones. No matter what I say, she doesn’t believe me. Leon arrived and Daddy came out of his study to tell Leon what they were going to do next. Julie decided she was happy to stay at home and do a few chores, she said this while looking at Leon, and not once at me–to whom she was talking. I suspect the operative word for the chores is few. I suppose I was young once, although I wasn’t in love or even lust, that didn’t happen until Kev the mechanic kissed me that day. Ooh, I’ve gone all goose pimply. Perhaps I will think about joining a cycling club.

I sent the girls up to wash and dress, tried to break into Julie’s libidinous dreams–but she was too far gone, and asked the boys if they’d like me to escort them for a ride. They practically bounced off the table.

“Yay, Mummy’s coming out on the bike with us!” They rushed around the kitchen and out into the garden to tell Leon and Tom. Then they rushed back in again. I sent them up to wash their faces and hands, they were all sticky with jam. I followed them upstairs as far as my own room where I changed while Simon was still in the shower.

“Gee whizz, it’s David Millar,” he joked as he came out and I was dressed in yellow cycling kit.

“David Millar is six feet four, I’m five feet seven on a tall day, besides he rides for Garmin, this is HTC-Columbia-High Road, more Mark Cavendish.”

“He’s not six feet four is he?”

“No, he’s about five seven, too.”

“Oh, you have much in common with him then.”

“I’m not a foul mouthed sprinter of exceptional ability.”

“That’s true,” Simon agreed then squawked as I pulled his towel away as I stamped out of the bedroom. He was lucky, I could have stepped on his toes in cycling shoes–he wouldn’t have enjoyed that one bit.

To cut a long story short, I checked out the bikes, put some air in mine and after donning arm and leg warmers and my helmet, the boys and I set off for a reasonable ride.

I set them a pace of ten miles an hour for nearly a mile by which time they were starting to flag a little. I rode on and waited for them to catch me up. They were both blowing quite hard and grumbled that it was easy for me with bigger wheels.

They were probably correct, but then I was bigger, too, and presumably as strong if not stronger–so, I had all the advantages. I asked them if they wanted to keep going and they both emphatically agreed they did. I therefore suggested that I rode back a bit and they continued on and I would attempt to catch them before we got to the pub. If they won, I’d buy the lemonades, if I won–they would have to pay.

They asked how far I would go back, and I suggested that I’d go back to the house and turn round and come after them, except I’d be on the road, not the cycle path. Once I’d assured them I’d be careful, they agreed to it.

I was about two miles from home and they had two miles to go to the pub including a short but stiff climb up a hill, which I didn’t mention. Besides they were on mountain bikes with granny gears against my race type compact chain set, admittedly on a carbon fibre bike. I was giving them a four mile start on a six mile race.

I set off away from them and they shot off legs spinning to try and cause me to pay up for the drinks. I gradually built up my speed, I hadn’t even worked up a sweat yet. I did a few minutes later when I was doing nearly twenty five miles on the flat and holding it, albeit with effort. I got to the house and turned round in a big circle and really went for it. I had four miles to cover against what was probably the boy’s one.

I got back to the spot where we’d separated and kept my cadence going–I was still doing over twenty and now riding into a headwind. I consoled myself that they would be too. Three minutes later I spotted them, they were struggling on the hill, Danny was still riding but Billy had dismounted and was in walking gear.

The hill and the wind cut into my speed and despite standing on the pedals, and dropping several gears, I was struggling to make any sort of speed–I’d lost that much fitness, not riding. In days of old, I’d actually flown up this hill at fifteen plus miles an hour–today, I was struggling to achieve ten.

I turned into the pub car park as the boys reached it–it was draw, probably the best result, and from the looks on their faces–one, they felt they could improve on. I had a feeling we’d be doing this again–so I needed to get the turbo out.

I’d have won the race back with ease. They were both so tired, that they struggled to maintain any sort of momentum home. Back there, they both zonked on the couch while I prepared lunch. I took a quick photo while they were asleep.

One episode to report, when I walked into the pub to get the drinks, which we consumed in their garden in the sunshine, one of the wags in the bar said, “Look out, here comes Mark Cavendish.”

His mate said, “Oh yeah, you know why he wins all them sprints?”

“Yeah ‘cos he’s the best.”

“Nah, if you look you can see he’s got tits, so his chest gets there before all the others.”

At this point, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or hit them, so I removed my helmet and pushed my sunglasses up on to my hair, which was tied back in a ponytail, and the first one said, “Oh, it’s not Cavendish.”

The other laughed, and said to him, “No wonder you can’t get laid, you can’t tell the difference between men and women.”

I decided I would say something to them, as their sexism was irritating me. “Excuse me, but I think I can tell you why your friend can’t get laid.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that then?”

“He won’t find a chicken with a big enough arse.”

The friend and the landlord thought it was hilarious, and I’d intended to suggest that he would be laid like an egg. He obviously thought I was implying he was either gay or into bestiality or something. He got quite angry and implied if I was a bloke he’d be asking me outside.

If he did, he’d get a surprise just before I began breaking his ribs, my biggest danger was my foot sinking up to the knee in his beer belly. However, women don’t fight unless attacked, and certainly not in front of their children.

The landlord and his friend calmed him down and I took my drinks outside to the garden and the children.

Riding home, I did hope they weren’t travelling the same way and in a car. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to be and we got back safely.

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Comments

It's nice to see...

...a bit of cycling in Easy As Falling Off A Bike, aka The Daily Dormouse.

Come to think of it, it's been a while since we've had any mentions of dormeeces!

I have to confess that I was waiting for some sort of accident to befall one of the three cyclists in this episode, so it's good that they all got back safely.

Pleasantly Surprised


Bike Archive

I agree with Nick ...

... or, in this case, PS :) (UK election joke) I suppose if PS rode a tandem (s)he and her/his partner would be Perfectly Synchronised :)

I would have thought anyone who even knew Cathy was wearing Columbia kit and had heard of Mark Cavendish would be OK with a bit of cycling banter. Particularly with an attractive young woman rider.

Really just another vote for Bike. I like to keep Angharad encouraged.

Robi

Bike pt 989

Cathy needs to start carrying some protection when she bikes with her tendancy to get into trouble.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Protection, Stan?…

…I hope you did not mean THAT sort of protection* nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more…even if they bonked.

A nice happy episode. Thanks, Angie.

Hilary

* FLs
(Fr*nch L*tt*rs)

Ooh Hil,

Angharad's picture

you are awful, but I like you!

What was that about protection from baking? Fresh lettuce?

Angharad

Angharad

Bonking, - Biking?

So who was bonking and who was biking.
Yeah Biking's great!

I go biking up the Afan Valley in PT. (It's less than 2.8 miles from my front door.) Best li'tl bike track in Wales or so they all claim.
Tenth best in the world or so the local tourist splurge will have it, but that's at weekends when the lycra set are out.
A gang of us old'uns pedal up and down the old rail tracks midweek when the lycra louts are safely engrossed on their computers in some faraway office in London or Birmingham and we have the whole damned valley to ourselves. Pure bliss for local walkers and us local oldies. I've even got a bell to warn walkers. (Wish the lycra clad groccles would get bells!)

Hope you've got a bell Angharad!

Come the weekends we locals all hide away under our stones or doing the gardening while the loonie-wheelers invade from all over.
Yeah, biking's fun when you can trundle around on your old bone-shaker wearing a pair of old jeans, quilted shirt and trainers, (not to mention bicycle clips.) Yes it's a veritable cycling history lesson mid week on the Cwm Afan circuit and nary a watch or speedometer or odometer in site.
Lots of talking though and a fabulous cycling centre at the top which serves bloody good grub which is well deserved after a pleasant 10 to 15 mile spin up the valley to be followed by a happy downhill run back.

Glad to see that Cathy's children like biking. Keeps em fit!

happy wheeling.
Still loving it.
OXOXOX
Beverly.

bev_1.jpg

Warnings

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Isabel.

Isabel who?

{Highlight to read if you dare!} Isabel necessary on a bicycle?

Potentially Sonorous


Bike Archive

As lycra lout myself ...

... albeit an ageing one I resemble that remark, Beverly :) You'd be surprised at the age profile of our lycra-clad Wednesday geriatric rides :) At 70, I'm far from the oldest. My partner likes a bell on the back of the back of the tandem but eschews one on her single for some reason.

Now this 'bonking' stuff. I'm not sure just what you lot mean by it but cyclists (obsessed with food as we are) usually try to avoid it at all costs by keeping well fuelled. It means running out of easily burnt glycogen - effectively running out fuel or 'hitting the wall'. It's only happened to me once but as that was with 80km left to do of a 200 km ride was unpleasant to say the least.

Robi

Regardless of how Cathy

Regardless of how Cathy meant it, I thought her retort to the two louts was quite funny and well placed; and I do believe she would have definitely 'kicked some overweight butt' if either one had gone for her. Jan :)

nice to see

some biking finally going on. She has all those neat bike's and the kids have more than adequate rides. She and they need to get into a club and start a good hobby or riding habit for the kids, maybe even Leon to keep them out of trouble. May even produce some trophies for the shelf. Good episode.

Now that was nice

A nice happy episode to wake up too ....And a good chicken joke to finish with....Perfect.

Kirri

temper

Least of recent, Cathy is learning to be lady like & control her temper & think b4 acting. This is def improvment from the very early chapters when when really wasnt threatened, but took action anways.

Kids

She could have won, if she really wanted to, but allowed the boys to at least break even. This is what being a parent is about.

Next time they will try harder, and improve themselves in the process.

Wore the little suckers out.

Atta girl always starting Pub rage. It sounds like you need some rib crunching time.
The muscles from Brissles. Cathy vanDamm.
About this time I ask after Spike. The oldest living Dormouse.

Cefin