Just back from the first cycle ride for a week and find the countryside has descended into rampant bucoholism.
It’s all lush and green and overgrown like mother nature has thought “It’s summer. Quite frankly, I’m just not bothering any more. Time to put the feet up and let everything all blousy and out of control.”
It’s like the whole countryside is going to seed. A disgrace.
It’s a masochist’s paradise out there. It’s not just the white van drivers that are out to get me now, it’s nature in general.
I had to be constantly on the look out for briars dangling down threatening to whip me in the face. Elderflower branches had grown profusely low enough to take my head off or an eye outl and the grasses that don’t whip your legs wetly (ok well I admit there is a perverted pleasure to be had from pedalling through a field of delicate cool fronds but quite honestly you’re passing through too fast to appreciate it properly. Actually, maybe I should try it a bit slower…) are razor sharp and leave slash marks on your calves.
Then a swan rose out of the undergrowth near the pond and it’s undercarriage missed my head by about six inches.
Apart from that, it was lovely. And I broke my no-hands record. It now stands at 19 seconds. Oh yes