The sun was(n't) shining, it was dry and we were prepared for a new chapter in my (and Dr G's as well really) MTB career: the more manly option of the non-trail centre. Not that I've never ridden off piste before, but I usually take the easy option of the trail centre, mainly down to the lucky coincidence of having lived very close to one trail centre or other in the past 6 years.
It really was a good morning's (and early afternoon's) riding and a day of firsts including the Dr's new bike and his new tights. I had to make do with the new trail.
We made good use of the map and some nattily laminated directions, thanks to the inspired use of child labour, while chatting a lot of the way round. Which was nice. All the while with the thought in the back of our minds of a big lunch of veg chilli (which was delivered as expected upon our return).
Details of the whole thing would be a tad dull I reckon, so highlights included:
- Dr G explaining to his new bike that it was likely to get dirty, "but it's okay".
- Hunched-over "old pervert style" bib-tight induced relieving of oneself.
- Inexplicably slow going over what appeared to be simply grass
- Me: "My rear hub's quite noisy when I'm not pedalling", Old Man, disapprovingly, "Mmmm, yes".
- A riveting discussion on which foot forward is best.
- The good Dr calling me gay for reasons I forget.
- Quickmud across the top of Cocklaw Fell, which the Doc - after avoiding my haphazard and slippy route - ended up sideways up to his elbow and knee in.
Strangely, it was because you were eating apples and not because you were obsessing over my tights.
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