First Blood

 Once the morning routine was finished and rampaging ryelands were removed from the bike store aka stables yours truly set off for a new experience of forest trail riding at Cannock Chase. This was new in all aspects and for a roadie the culture clash was immense. For a start I was no longer a lycra fat bloke on a bike I was a dude, or buddy and this was just the start. The forest tracks were not as I thought, wide gravel strewn fire breaks, but single track windy paths through trees that in places were barely an inch wider than the handlebars. The trail centre attracted all sorts of riders and bikes, from armour clad star wars storm trooper clones to bikers in cut offs, string vests and the only protection they had was flab. Bikes varied from top of the range carbon machines to bmx's, downhill racers and mine which was unique in so far as it still had the bell and reflectors on it as supplied by law. My omission to remove such tat was spotted by my new colleagues who let me off a good shoeing only because of my capacity for self harm surpassed any punishment they could meet out.

 Having survived nearly three miles for red route technical bits (obviously the course of choice for a complete novice fat bloke with one functioning arm) I was feeling pretty happy completing a section called Stegosaurus (lots of spiky rocks all leading downhill to a fast flat bit immediately in front of a small bridge, goats for the use of) and piloted my steed towards an easy looking wooden bridge that led for around 100 feet across marsh and tree stumps, when I saw that the bridge narrowed and bent and in my fixation on this rather than the route ahead I basically got too close to the edge and fell off. The blood running down my leg shows the damage my bike pedal did to me, best of all my bionic arm took full force of the impact and as expected held up to the abuse. Once the bearded unwashed who followed stopped laughing and I could breath again we left Dog route and set off along Monkey route which soon led to difficulties for my mate, sorry, buddy, Darren. He fell far behind and once I heard his shout for help I found him, his bike and chain in separate places.

 An hour or so later we got him going again, for a full five yards when it snapped again. Naturally all this happened at mile 7.5 of a 15 mile circuit route. The long walk back began.

Spirits were raised by bacon butties, tea and cake and once the bikes were loaded again we made it back to HQ in time for more tea and stickies. And so an evening of well earned rest began. Work done. Play over. A gallon of tea, a big peice of flapjack, Pink Floyd and a bath. Heaven truly was a place on earth and as I drifted off in red hot water my Dave Gilmour guitar rifted meditation was rudely interrupted by my beautiful and oh so patient wife asking if I had ordered a big load of hay.
was the not quite but working on it terse reply.
Thought you had she continued because its just arrived.