By popular demand . . .

So, what of this weekend’s biking then? That seems to be the question. Quite surprised anyone’s that interested, apart from me – and I’m only slightly interested. Well, being the weekend, there is only one route to take isn’t there? So out on Saturday and then back out on Sunday it was to be then.
I had hoped for a long lie in consisting of lots of sleep on Saturday, but my body didn’t agree. Up and about far earlier than I had wished for, I decided that a pootle round the Timberland trail was the obvious choice. And so it was that I headed out on a grey autumn Saturday morning, looking forward to being able to see where I was going for a change.
There were two small matters I hadn’t mentally factored into this. The first was that, despite the weather forecast, there had plainly been some overnight rain. Crikey, those leaves were mighty slippery. The second small matter was discovered at the start of the trail.
As always, I ride my bike up to Ashton Court and then give it a once over at the start of the trail. That might seem like an arse about face way to go about it – why not check it at home before leaving? I don’t know, it just seems to work. The ride up to the woods loosens up my legs a bit and then I give ‘em a little stretch before the off road starts and check over the bike at the same time. Anyway, that’s not the point, this is: as I was checking over the steed, I noticed a suspension pivot bolt which looked loose. “Better tighten that up”, I thought, rummaging in my pack for the trusty multi-tool. The next thought was “oh deary me”, or something like that. There was not tightening up this bolt, however hard I tried. You see, the bolt head and the nut on the opposite end were no longer mechanically connected to each other. Broken pivot bolt. Hmmm, what to do. I did the only sensible thing and headed off around the trail anyway!
Apart from one ballet style dismount, which resulted in me scampering down a 10 foot drop while my bike stayed at the top, the ride was fairly uneventful.
After couple of laps or so of the trail, the bolt was still in place. The bike hadn’t collapsed, just the rider. I was one tired pile of rubbishness. From the start my legs seemed to be running on empty and they just stayed that way. Couldn’t seem to get any purposeful forward motion once the ground gradient exceeded about one degree upwards. I pottered home and melted presuming that Sunday would be better.
Maybe it had been the fact that I was only just awake yesterday. That was my not so carefully considered analysis on Sunday and the reason I didn’t head out until lunchtime. So it was that I sat at the start of the trail early on Sunday afternoon checking the new M6 bolt in my suspension pivot was still there and that the nut was tight. All present and correct, no need to worry on that front.
Heading off along the trail, I knew very quickly that energy levels of yesterday were also still present and correct. Bleedin’ legs – they’re rubbish! Still, no point in worrying about, just get on and get the miles in. Apart from the useless legs thing, everything seemed to be going pretty well. The trails had dried out a lot since yesterday and the leaves were no longer the black ice obstacles they had been on Saturday. That meant that I could blast along my favourite rock section as fast as possible, and so I did. Suddenly there was some go in the legs and I was pedalling like crazy at every opportunity. Rounding the last turn and cresting the slight uphill, I saw the trail ahead full of four static bikers. The idiots were just sitting there in the middle of the trail, just short of where the trail switches back on itself. I had to pull away to the side of the little slab drop which ends the rocky section. If I had gone over it, I would never have avoided them. As it was, I wasn’t sure I could stop, so I decided on an escape route. Heading off the side of the trail, bike brake hard on and rear wheel locked, I managed to drop down and turn 180 degrees to end up on the switched back section of the trail, front wheel sliding across the dirt. Somehow I stayed on and kept going. I think the idiots thought I was being flash. I doubt it occurred to them that the other option had been for me to plough straight into them.
Nearing the end of my ride and my capacity to cycle, I passed a geezer pushing his Merlin Malt and checked whether all was ok. As it turned out, he had a flat and a puncture repair kit, but no tyre levers. Taking pity, I removed his tyre, furnished him with a replacement tube when it turned out that the valve was the problem.
Feeling like a good Samaritan with jelly legs, I pottered off home hoping that the evening rides will be more satisfying.