Saturday, 3rd October 2009
St Albans – Outskirts of St Albans – St Albans
It had been a while since Chris and I had been out for a ride, so I was looking forward to today’s ride immensely. The reality was nothing like I’d envisaged.
After about four miles, a fat man in an Arsenal training top stepped off the pavement into my path, and I hit the ground at about 30mph, landing shoulder first. I picked myself up, dusted myself down, cried over my ripped T-Mobile jersey, then cycled slowly and painfully back to our starting point and a cup of tea.
Until then, I’d be murdering Chris with a cracking pace. Subsequent trips to the hospital and the doctor’s surgery have revealed a desire for them to ban me from the bike. Next time we ride, the normal situation of Chris killing me, and me moaning, will be resumed.