Testing times

 For the second morning running we woke to snow on the not too distant hills. It soon brightened up and I finally managed to get my cunning plan into action, road test R100 on the pretence that I had left a notebook at the office. This would, in my thinking, legitimately absent myself from the jobs list.
 As it was the morning got off to a disastrous start and when things settled, and when I had finished diffusing all the puppy mines in the conservatory to be able to get to R100 it was nearly lunch time.
In my head it was still around 10am which explained the funny looks I got cycling through town saying good morning to zombie pedestrians, more of which later.

 R200 is badly set up, so having got R100 back in one piece, and after fixing the damage from yesterdays refit of front wheel (it wasn't the brake it was yours truly over tightening the quick release skewer which meant the wheel was not central so jammed into the brake block) I decided to adjust the saddle height as the last person to ride it, he who cannot be named, is a good 4 inches longer in the leg than me so a couple of test mount dismounts (much to little ts amusement) I concluded that the chances of me riding safely without the need for an air ambulance with the saddle at the current height was slim.
There then began a tedious exercise in trying to lower the saddle. Pleading with and begging the Allen bolt to A) undo and B) Undo before shearing off the Allen key or the internal workings of bolt failed and so with the aid of a block of wood lodged under the frame down tube, a wooden pestle and an adjustable hand axe the saddle post was persuaded to drop to the right height so yours truly could get his tip toe down without doing himself a mischief in the process on the saddle horn.
 I would like to say things then got better, but they didn't. Preston the ancient beagle decided to follow me for the first part of the ride. I then found the riding position not as good as the R200 and after 3.5 miles felt like walking due to the pressure on my arms. Manning up I made it to town where I was baffled by the antics of pedestrians who seemed to time their launch from kerbside after having calculated the braking distance of a fat bloke in Lycra thus giving both of us just enough time to panic. One dear soul chose to shove her baby buggy in my path thus saving her any potential injury, the child and I also survived.

I contemplated this new feature of the wonderful world of cycling as I tried to cram 6 note books, a reference book, 5 litres of goats milk, 1 litre of pop, a loaf of bread, a bag of jelly dinosaurs (for little t) a large Toblerone (MBAOSPW) a magazine (same) a small cake (on offer) and a lottery ticket (I will win one day) into a tiny rucksack before wobbling across the car park and setting off on the 5 mile return trip.
More killer pedestrians eyed my progress with suspicion but stayed their side of the pavement.
 No, cars and lorries had not caused me any like as much worry as those on foot.
It was at that point order in the universe was restored when a black BMW went past towing a caravan. The driver clearly forgetting that the caravan was 18 inches wider than the car. Had it been 19 inches wider I would now be needing a bionic right elbow to match my left.

Day 3 30 30 lvl 16 Hill training 12.8 km av bpm 124 max 148 Queen Sheer Heart Attack.