Fat, Old Bloke On A Bike
On Friday I collected Sarah’s (youngest sprogg) new Giant Terrago Disc. Twelve years old and she’s got a mountain bike that’d wipe the floor with anything I had when I was racing on the road and also exploring Glentress most evenings back in the day before it became the glorious bike skatepark it is now.
Well, had great fun today playing in Cademuir forest (Glentress is tooooooo busy at the weekends!) and we had a proper old school outing…ungroomed trails, mud and slippery roots were the order of the day. We both came home looking like Sean Kelly after a classic Paris Roubaix and grinning ear to ear.
Like Angus before her Sarah likes to play the hare and tortoise game on steep climbs. She disappears up the hill, legs whirring like Armstrong on Sestriere in the ’99 Tour and then blows up and has to stop whilst her old man grinds the gear uphill in an unstoppable, but treacle like, orgy of sweat and pain.
Fun was had.
However, there’s no doubt I’m no longer a fat racing cyclist…I’m just a fat, old bloke on a bike. ;o(
Sarah’s new bike looked slightly less shiny on our return. ;o)