The Usual suspects

Time out for good behaviour saw yours truly scampering off down the lane sprayed in waterproof lycra of dubious hues for a Sunday morning ride with the Red Kite Riders. One had already phoned to say he was not allowed out to play due to an outbreak of decorating, another that the morning after the night before was not conducive to a sense of balance and just as I was leaving yet another having to deal with burst pipes rather than bursting lungs on the epic climb planned today. So the usual suspects were down a few but a new member meant that we had to turn out and face the weather and some of the 100 or so flood warnings. It was supposed to be calm and non raining until about the 20 mile mark so if we were quick we could be back in time for tea and out of date mince pies.
Signs that this was going to be a memorable ride (read embarrassing) occurred within seconds of leaving the cottage and faced with first lake to negotiate (its gone past puddle dimensions weeks ago) I decided that I would risk riding through it rather than walking as knee deep ice cold muddy water is not the best thing for cycling shoes. Having successfully managed not to fall off, hence in, I carried on riding along our dirt track, where I normally walk pushing bike as razor thin racing wheels don't like anything other than tarmac, and so it was that I approached the gate to the world at faster than walking pace.
A lot faster.
Those in the know, know that wet wheel rims and cold wet racing brake blocks have as much grip as Nick Clegg has on the Tory party policy. This startling piece of physics became overwhelmingly apparent as I failed to stop without the aid of the gate, and even more amusing was my inability to put my feet down to assist as they were unintentionally clipped into the pedals. No one saw the inevitable success of gravity save for Jess the dog who watched with her stoic wheres my biscuit expression. As it was now prone on the gravel she accepted the snack and wandered off allowing unhindered disentanglement.
At Red Kite HQ I brushed aside questions such as why are you late and what are those strange marks on your lycra. We headed out and the lack of cycling over the Christmas/New Year/Wedding break was telling especially on the monster climb up Beggars Bush nearly beat me. Thankfully the summit was reached, although it was reached with a speed down to 5mph at one point, and the descent was 35mph and as long as you didn't think about the abrasive qualities of tarmac and the lack of protection offered by lycra coupled with the lack of grip bike tyres have on icy corners (have I mentioned the ice yet?) it was thrilling. We regrouped all intact and most grinning like idiots at the final turn for home and right on cue, at mile 20, the heavens opened and the race to stale pasties began in earnest.
I watched as they disappeared into the murk as my rear tyre lost all air pressure and then grip. Being only a mile and half from home was the only plus side so I piloted my stricken craft back to sanctuary where I defrosted and battened down the hatches against the latest storm.