Cycle Show – Part ii

In a doomed attempt to emulate those string and wire boys of earlier, a fun boy three of riders headed into deepest London for a street ride. We’d feasted on Shoreditch’s finest Chinese take-away, pontificated widely on appropriate tyre pressures and finally ran out of excuses to engage arse-gear.

After an early doors puncture, the vague yet plausible threat of molestation by roaming gangs and considerable performance anxiety brought on by thousands of pissed Londoners, a team decision mandated that we’d be having it small going on infinitesimal.

Still this hardly detracted from the fun of a two wheeled preamble through a balmy London evening. As a city of lights, it’s really properly impressive with major landmarks illuminating a night sky already brightened by a fat, full moon. Light spilled from every bar, streaks of significant wattage bounced off a clear sky whenever we passed something famous, but the pavements were dark and the pedestrians programmed random.

Wierd pavement, odd exposure Looks sandy Small wall, large photoshop

In search of something new, we inevitably paid return visits to old favourites; the ‘architected for MTB’ steps down to the millennium bridge, a dart around the South Bank and some barely defined concrete madness at the Tate Modern. We rode a few walls and sized up many more. But the press of a Saturday night crowd, interspersed with what felt like the entire Met, left us riding more but cleaning less.

Cheeky riding on the Mil Bridge A ghostly Brad Properly bridgey

After a final incident where about a hundred sozzled café dwellers were screaming for a concrete based injury, we cried enough and retired pubwards.

Only two downsides marred a fantastic day. Firstly Brad chose to emboss a perfect mirror of his DMR V12 pedal on my car door. Reasons currently unknown although brain fade and excessive Nurofen are high on the judging list.

Secondly, I’ve been unable to reconcile the quandary that is to retain a loving, long term and, most importantly, local relationship with my testicles against the chances of smuggling in a new frame under the cover of darkness.

I’ve been testing the ground under the barn and believe there’s potential for a BatCave arrangement. Pass me the shovel.

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