Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 762 by Angharad

“Where did you put that letter from the insurance company?” I asked Stella.

“On the table in the hallway.” I walked out and picked up the brown envelope and tore it open.

“They’re going to give me a new bike, same or better than the old one.”

“Is that what you wanted?”

“Yeah. I suppose so.”

“Oh well, that’s alright then. Are you going to see Tom this afters?”

“Yep, straight after lunch.”

“Won’t they let me take Puddin’ in?”

“No, but we could share her, I’ll have her for a bit while you’re in with Tom and then we swap over.”

“What, you go in with her while Tom and I come out?”

“Yes – uh? No, you twit, then you come and look after your own bloody offspring while I go and see him.”

“I’m glad you didn’t say idiot offspring, then I should have got cross.”

“Nothing wrong with Pud, it’s her parent who’s an idiot.”

“Jealousy will get you nowhere.”

“Look, I need to make some bread for lunch, so can we talk later?” I strolled out to the kitchen. Once I’d got the bread machine working, I reread the letter in a more leisurely and thorough manner. They were going to provide me with a new Scott which would be delivered within three weeks – so it’s just as well I wasn’t waiting to go for a ride.

Stella had Puddin’ down for a sleep and I showed her the letter. “Better late than never, I suppose.”

“Yeah, but they take your money fast enough, don’t they? I hope it’s still in the yellow colours of Saunier Duval.”

“Do they still do them like that?”

“I doubt it. The team packed up, but I still like Dave Millar, he’s going to captain the British road-race team at the worlds.”

“Isn’t he the one who got struck off for taking EPO or whatever they call it?”

“He was suspended or banned for two years, nearly destroyed him – he was such a fool, he lost his World Time Trial championship too, and ensured he’d never ride in an Olympics again – silly fool.”

“So how come he can ride in the world championships?”

“They’re a bit more forgiving, and I think he’s learnt his lesson – he’s now very anti-drugs.”

“What, poacher turned gamekeeper?”

“Sort of, although I dunno if the analogy stretches that far.”

“Wot no lycra?” Stella made this silly face and I laughed out loud. “I thought you lot were born in lycra?”

“Very funny, you wear as much of it as I do.”

“Oh yeah, I’m always in tight fitting clothes – I’ve had a baby, remember–got the stretch marks to prove it.”

I decided I wasn’t going to respond to this line of conversation – I was sure there was no deliberate attempt to poke the finger at me, and whilst I could have made a joke of it, I decided to ignore it. “You have a super figure, Stella. I’m fatter than you.”

“Oh well, you’ve got three babies haven’t you.”

“I’ll take that as an offering without malice.”

“Malice, Cathy, of course there’s none, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“It’s just that when you go on about babies…”

“Oh poo, I keep doing that don’t I? I don’t mean to, kiddo. I just forget that they’re not yours in the literal sense – or do I mean biological sense. Yeah, that’ll do. I’ll shut up now.”

We hugged, it was safer than hitting her or drowning her in my tears, and I felt that she hadn’t really intended it. Hey ho, back to my bread.

“So you don’t know what colour the bike is going to be?”

“No, the colour isn’t that important, but I must get back into riding again.”

“Ride to the hospital, I’ll drive with Puddin’ and we’ll meet you there.”

“It’s not supposed to rain is it?”

“Not according to the forecast, but you take that as you want.”

“I’ll go and check my bike – oh and Stella?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

She beamed back a smile. I went out to the garage the bikes were in and checked the tyres which were softish – they need to be at least one hundred pounds per square inch or PSI or they don’t function properly. I also quickly checked the brakes and made sure I had a chain with me. Four grand of carbon fibre is a bit too valuable to leave just lying anywhere. After discussion with Stella, she was going to drive my dad’s old car, the Mondeo and I’d whip the wheel off the front and shove it in the boot when she got there – the bike wheel, that is.

That was effectively what we did. She got caught in the traffic – the schools are back – I had informed Sister Maria about our two, so that was okay. I was waiting at the hospital car park for about five minutes ahead of the car. Mind you, I nearly hit some kid on a crossing – he was messing about and I came through just as he decided to race across. My swerve was spectacular r– brakes full on and my back wheel nearly came around to the front.

“Shouldn’t be going so fast,” claimed the cheeky little sod.

“Don’t worry, you little turd, I’ll get you next time,” I spat back. Why is it that pedestrians don’t see cyclists? I know kids don’t even see trucks when they’re messing about, let alone we lesser beings. But even adults, especially people shopping or elderly folk, simply don’t look unless they hear an engine. If there’s a big Merc or a Rolls Royce coming along, they won’t hear it either, so they should look.

In my book, unless cyclists have jumped a red light, then they should be the same as any other idiot with regard to the law and be prosecuted, but otherwise, any cyclist involved with a vehicle or pedestrian on the road is likely to be the victim of others’ stupidity.

I know we all get the odd stupid cyclist, usually young men, who are stupid full stop; and who do silly things. Teenagers are unable to see consequences, especially boys, they do things and repent at leisure if they do at all.

I cycle within the law and with reasonable care. I’ve been knocked off several times and none of them has been my fault unless you count the time I got my cleat stuck in the pedal and I went down. The road is harder than I am – surprisingly and it bloody hurts. I’m willing to bet even a carbon fibre frame is harder than a cocky seven-year-old, but it could have bent one of my Roval wheels.

Tom was in a reasonable mood; they were still doing tests but much to their embarrassment, they had diagnosed a myocardial infarct but now were finding some difficulty in locating where or what had happened. They were also a bit concerned about their diagnosis of his coronary arteries. They were doing a series of scans tomorrow and if he was as well as he seemed today, they could send him home. I must admit I grinned, it appeared that my efforts had been successful. How much Tom appreciated it, I wasn’t sure, but Stella had come out smirking when she took back control of Puddin, who was fast asleep in the car seat.

“So the blue light strikes again?” she said sniggering at me.

“Does it? I’ll go and see him and see what they say.”

“Looks like he’s going to be out tomorrow or the next day. When are the girls back?” “

“Tomorrow, I think, I’ll check with Simon. He was taking them to the Tower, today.”

“Yeah, but are they coming back from there or are they going to be incarcerated in there?”

“That depends upon how much agro they gave the yeoman warders.”

“Who?” said Stella.

“Beefeaters, them in the fancy dress.”

“I thought that’s what they called ‘em, sounds like a carvery, doesn’t it?”

“Could well be. Let me fix this wheel back on and I’ll race you home.” I tightened the quick release levers and closed the front brake. Then I jumped on the bike and shot out of the car park…

The cow beat me.