I have to escape the bloody church bells on Sunday morning. The aim is always to be out of the house at least by 9 am. Leave it any later, and the big dongs will be tugging away on their bell ends ferociously. It does me nut in, to be honest.
A run was out of the question. BUT OF COURSE I’m still crocked. I seem to have been crocked full on of late. My current crock injury is coming close to the anniversary of it first appearing. That sounds more like a long-term condition than an injury.
Oh dear.
So a bicycle ride it was. Time and tide were a little tight. I had around an hour and a half before I had a few work commitments to take care of a little later back at base.
I’m finding a new-found freedom once again, rolling out on the road bike. It is so agile and light. Plus, there’s also a complete ease in terms of getting it in and out of the house and just simply bloody riding it.
Chapeau!
Immediately, I hit a headwind. I tried not to let this annoy me. A big smile was put on my face when I saw someone had had some fun with some OCD hedge cutting. My kind of person.
This was also a good opportunity to road test my own bicycle mechanical skills. This was the first semi-serious ride after I attempted a few tinkerings to try and lose the annoying clicking sound.
This most def was coming from the cranks, or at least it sounded that way. My friendly AI bot differed. It suggested that it was something to do with the seat post.
A few changes earlier in the week, and wow, whaddyaknow? I managed the whole ride this morning, and the clicking had gone. I really should retrain as a bicycle mechanic. Yeah, because that’s going to pay the bills, right?
This was a ride mainly around the Estuary Wilds lanes, but also a few suburban areas. The smell of Sunday roasts slowly cooking was already heavy in my nostrils at around 11 am.
Over at Great Bromley, the groundsman was going through his paces with some wicket preparation ahead of one of the final few days of the cricketing summer. We’llmiss them when they’re gone.
I reached the bonkers Vineyard, which I always think should be somewhere in the south of France and not north east Essex. There was some serious harvesting taking place. Betcha it’s a bumper crop this year, with the various heat waves.
The seasonal theme continued. The ride included heading past Herbert’s Happy Christmas Turkey Farm. I often wonder about the name. I doubt if Herbert is actually that happy. The big sign has been put up ahead of the Christmas run in. And so it begins.
A decent ride. I was back at base with no more bloody bells and a little time to spare ahead of my next work commitments.