First Day of Spring

Today was without a doubt the first real day of Spring 2013.

After a few weeks of temperatures no higher than 4 degrees Celsius, dull grey days and that persistent and chilling east wind I awoke this morning to stillness in the air, an average of 6 degrees and even the sight of some light blue sky in between cumbersome clouds.

Me and The Boy put into action our criteria which would dictate if we went out on our bikes or had another enforced duvet and film day. Although pleasantly relaxing  successive activities of this type  have seriously depleted our own stock of movies.

A friend lent us a few 1950's black and white melodramas which we have worked our way through. This has had a bit of an influence in our subsequent behaviour. We now speak English with impeccable accuracy and precise diction. Our manners and etiquette have greatly improved in all domestic situations and we dress for dinner. There is however an overwhelming disappointment in not possessing a drinks cabinet, terrace bar or inexhaustible supply of gin and tonic.

It was therefore with some relief that the prevailing conditions of today were satisfactory to contemplate a long awaited resumption of our cycling.

The Boy took to heart the old saying about not casting out a clout till May is out and put on his multiple layers of clothing as though the route were to take in the Arctic. After a low aggregate mileage so far this year we were determined to do a good, long ride.

I had spent a few minutes with the local Ordnance Survey Sheet the evening before researching a circular course. We had our regular and favourite tracks and by-ways and cobbling together a few of these would make for just such a challenging distance. The Boy however gets a bit bored with the usual sights and sounds and feeling a bit more adventurous than usual I cast an eye over what had so far represented the outer limits of our fitness and of course within the normal time constraints of a weekend.

There were some potential routes if we broke clear of the northern suburbs consisting of both minor roads and bridleways. The former could be a bit of an obstacle course around scorched tarmac and motor components from a stolen and torched vehicle and the latter a gamble as to whether navigable and passable on two wheels when just about useable by gals on horseback.

I made a decision to take on some totally new sections which would see us peaking at a distance of about 15 miles from home before the swing around and tortuous journey back.

The ride did not start too well. I took on a shard of glass through my front tyre. I thought at first that I had negotiated a path through the smashed bottle of Archers Schnapps at the gates of the large inner city secondary school but there was rapid deflation and commensurate bad language. At least the morning had warmed up a bit so I stripped off two of my winter layers to tackle the puncture repair. I felt reasonably optimistic about the success of the glued on patch but within five minutes I was again fighting to control a flaccid front wheel.

Out came my spare inner tube, just purchased the week before from a bike shop in Nottingham that I had not been to for 30 years. The man in the shop, just a mere lad all that time ago looked at me with faint recognition. 'You've put on a bit of weight since I saw you last' he said. Well used to character assassinations in sporting goods stores I was quick to reply that a gain of one pound per year was quite remarkable otherwise. We chatted a bit about the past and I reminded him that his Dad had built me my first proper racer in 1982. Like father, like son he tried to persuade me to buy one of his creations but I resisted even though the lightweight bikes were fabulous. As it was he just overcharged me for the inner tube.

My experience of mechanical problems whilst out cycling means that I now travel well tooled up for just about every eventuality.

My backpack resembles one of those 'Snap on Tools' vans that tour around the local garages although it may take some explanation and persuasion if I am ever stopped and searched by the Police.

The spare went in and at 45psi, within the recommended range of the manufacturer we were yet again fully mobile. The Boy had kept himself amused whilst I had attended to the problem. After riding up and down to keep warm he then experienced his first, albeit enforced, outdoors urination. I was quite proud that this was his first and he is nearly 18. I called him down off the bridge parapet which had been a bit of an exhibition but the track was deserted.

The next part of the ride was uneventful although there is always a nagging doubt about another flat tyre or other components working loose. We rode into the large town at the extremity of our range for the day. I had cheered up a bit and had dismissed thoughts of seeing if the money rolling about in my jersey pocket would be enough for a taxi or the train seeing as I was tired and yet we were only at about half distance.

The Boy was chipping in that he felt like he could stay out all day. I kept quiet about my mutinous ideas.

We were now on two sections of road very familiar from the halcyon days of my cycling back in the early 1980's. The first was a short sharp incline which I had used for training by sprinting up and then coasting down over an hour of timed work. The second was a loose track alongside the by-pass on which I had lost control of my first company car and hospitalised my younger brother. The hill was, to me, now a sheer vertical cliff and I struggled up and not in good style. The track, I rode gingerly along whilst keeping an eye on The Boy who was just about out of sight in the distance.

By the time we had reached a well to do commuter village I was more confident of getting home that day. My legs ached and with a strange almost electrical sensation in my upper thigh. I had planned a couple of short cuts to avoid a road, normally quiet, but now a rat run to avoid the 12 months upheaval of major civil engineering project on the more favoured direct route. These, on the one dimensional map sheet looked wide and surfaced but this impression must have been from the size of the path symbol and not in actuality. We dodged one horse and rider and a few walkers on little more than a field headland before emerging onto a proper tarmac carriageway. The short cut had punished my legs further and in the knowledge of one more sharp hill before the coast in to our home town my doubts again emerged about my ability to make it. I was comforted by the fact that The Boy got off and walked his bike up the slope first, well, a millisecond before the same thought came to me.

Luckily, no neighbours or friends witnessed our sorry condition as we straggled up the driveway. We didn't care as subsequent scaling from the map using the well tried and tested edge of a sheet of paper method explained our predicament- all forty miles of it.