Dunwich Dynamo 2007
Jul. 30th, 2007 01:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
andygatesWell, that was what they call a "reliability ride".
The rain started as soon as we got out of earshot of awesome music trailer Beatrix and didn't let up until we left the midway stop at 03:30.
For some reason I was doing it in a kilt. All I can say about doing it au naturelle is that top tubes are cold. After 10 miles of that around town it was obviously shorts time; after 65 miles of constant rain the thing lay in my lap like a three-day roadkill fox, and stank almost as bad. Still it meant I could put on a Samuel L Jackson swagger and could push my magic beans on all and sundry (mostly Em)...
I was pleasantly pleased that the ropelights - which didn't arrive until a week after last year's Run - went down a storm. Literal conversation stoppers, "You know, Phil, I think there's something clicking in my-- ooh! Nice wheels!". Someone has to put on a show
First half was pretty much head-down and damn the rain, and Team Filth put on a grand pace. Quinoa and falafel had something to do it, methinks, there was much venting of gases. Charlotte wins. Some of hers came from a whole other dimension.
Midway was wet, dripping, and pretty grim. The usual chipper fatigue was a bit more withdrawn, hardly surprising. The floor was slick with drippage. Some was drool from the corners of people's mouths. We set out in the cold and Comet and Em's singalong lifted the mood a treat - at least until the young whippersnapper made use of the tertiary braking surface. Probably best that his forks were bent as I was gagging to try out the stick-on butterfly stitches I'd brought along. Magic beans and stitches - I'm as much of a doctor as Gillian McKeith
As Dunwich appeared for the first time on the GPS, a beam of light lanced from the clouds and hit the horizon exactly where the Death Star indicated. I think it was Annie's arrival, because I swear I'm going to erect a gilded pedestal for anyone who turns up like that with tea and cakes. Utter star. Limped into Dunwich along with Juliet, Comet et al and one knee strapped up, to experience a sort of shuddering jawgasm in a mug. Bliss.
And after a cuppa and a cake, of course, some swimming (at which point Annie gets Baywatch Babe award as well as Cake Goddess, is there no limit to her talents?) Apologies to anyone traumatised by my arse but common decency boiled off with the clouds. Lovely warm water, whatever my vanished knackers may have to say about it.
And that was pretty much it for my riding: my gammy knee froze up a treat so it was trains, trains and, er, trains.
Next year? Maybe tow Beatrix in relay. Maybe tow a samovar of tea! Or maybe blag a penny-farthing. And definitely get one or two of you so-called Ironmen to come along for a nice lazy century ride. You don't have to run at the end, promise.
For some reason I was doing it in a kilt. All I can say about doing it au naturelle is that top tubes are cold. After 10 miles of that around town it was obviously shorts time; after 65 miles of constant rain the thing lay in my lap like a three-day roadkill fox, and stank almost as bad. Still it meant I could put on a Samuel L Jackson swagger and could push my magic beans on all and sundry (mostly Em)...
I was pleasantly pleased that the ropelights - which didn't arrive until a week after last year's Run - went down a storm. Literal conversation stoppers, "You know, Phil, I think there's something clicking in my-- ooh! Nice wheels!". Someone has to put on a show
First half was pretty much head-down and damn the rain, and Team Filth put on a grand pace. Quinoa and falafel had something to do it, methinks, there was much venting of gases. Charlotte wins. Some of hers came from a whole other dimension.
Midway was wet, dripping, and pretty grim. The usual chipper fatigue was a bit more withdrawn, hardly surprising. The floor was slick with drippage. Some was drool from the corners of people's mouths. We set out in the cold and Comet and Em's singalong lifted the mood a treat - at least until the young whippersnapper made use of the tertiary braking surface. Probably best that his forks were bent as I was gagging to try out the stick-on butterfly stitches I'd brought along. Magic beans and stitches - I'm as much of a doctor as Gillian McKeith
As Dunwich appeared for the first time on the GPS, a beam of light lanced from the clouds and hit the horizon exactly where the Death Star indicated. I think it was Annie's arrival, because I swear I'm going to erect a gilded pedestal for anyone who turns up like that with tea and cakes. Utter star. Limped into Dunwich along with Juliet, Comet et al and one knee strapped up, to experience a sort of shuddering jawgasm in a mug. Bliss.
And after a cuppa and a cake, of course, some swimming (at which point Annie gets Baywatch Babe award as well as Cake Goddess, is there no limit to her talents?) Apologies to anyone traumatised by my arse but common decency boiled off with the clouds. Lovely warm water, whatever my vanished knackers may have to say about it.
And that was pretty much it for my riding: my gammy knee froze up a treat so it was trains, trains and, er, trains.
Next year? Maybe tow Beatrix in relay. Maybe tow a samovar of tea! Or maybe blag a penny-farthing. And definitely get one or two of you so-called Ironmen to come along for a nice lazy century ride. You don't have to run at the end, promise.
