In the absence of pedalling again today, I thought about another story from my past. This time a cycling story.
It was inspired by this post from my fellow Cycling Blogger Steve. His site is really entertaining and I urge to bimble over there and have a read!
Back in the late 1990s I worked at Landrover in Solihull in the engineering department. I commuted to Solihull from Rubery where I still live which was a round trip of 28 miles.
I had a really nice Dawes road bike and a lot of my commute was rural. It was great.
At the end of the day the exit from Landrover was obviously chokka with folks eager to get out, this included a fair few pedallers. I always seemed to be behind an old guy on a Halfords special MTB all the way from the gate to the Shirley traffic lights about 3 miles away. He’d turn off towards Hall Green and I’d carry on towards Wythall. Thank God!
He was a beast, I was always knackered at Shirley lights, the pace he kept up on his old bone shaker was immense! I was in my mid 30s at the time and thought I was fairly fit, he was approaching retirement age!
But, as was bound to happen I eventually pulled up at a set of lights alongside him.
“You’re doing pretty well” he smiled to me in a normal conversational type way.
“Thanks mate” I panted trying not to be sick all over him.
“There’s not many people who can keep up with me” he laughed.
“Why’s that mate?” I choked desperately attempting to breathe through my one remaining functional lung.
“I’m part of the Great Britain tri-athlon team, the veteran’s section, and before you ask, yes, Ironman distance.”
“Ahh, that’d do it, good luck for the season then.”
Lesson learned I thought, always beware of old boys on crap bikes.