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. Weâ€™d feasted on Shoreditchâ€™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 weâ€™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, itâ€™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.
In search of something new, we inevitably paid return visits to old favourites; the â€˜architected for MTBâ€™ 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.
After a final incident where about a hundred sozzled cafÃ© 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, Iâ€™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.
Iâ€™ve been testing the ground under the barn and believe thereâ€™s potential for a BatCave arrangement. Pass me the shovel.