Funny old weekend. Saturday, I thought I needed to hone my freemounting
skills. For some months I've been rollback mounting with a mediocre
degree of success. Enough to give confidence that I can get back on if
there isn't a lamp-post handy, but not quite as reliable as one might
like. Sometimes (usually) it takes a few tries to get up again, and
it's frustrating if anyone is watching - the photons reflected from
their eyes have special, destabilising qualities.
So, I decided that it's time to try a static mount seriously. Last
weekend I had a few goes, and managed to hit it about three times in a
longish practice. This time a few successes gave me confidence, and
after an hour or so I was hitting it right about 50% of the time. This
is better than I've ever achieved with a rollback mount, so feeling
quite pleased, despite one mount where I missed the pedal altogether
and caught a nasty bite from the pins. The improvement seems to be with
making sure that my back foot is well above the horizontal position
when stepping up.
After this, a quick run down the road, turn round in the village hall
car park and back up the hill. This hill is something of a bete noir
for me: on the old 20" cycle I could make it about 50% of the time, but
I've never made it on the Nimbus 26 which is the current dream machine.
When it arrived just before Christmas, I had thought that I would be
sailing up hills which the 20" couldn't make. I've been rather
disappointed that my hill climbing has regressed despite having
slightly more mechanical advantage on the Nimbus. I think that the
problem is that the larger cranks make my leg movement much more
exaggerated and this leads to wobbles, imbalance and UPDs. Anyway, I
was pleased for the first time to pass the crux of the hill and stay
on.
The road then leads out of the village in a direction I've never
explored on the uni - mainly because it leads fairly quickly to the
sort of busy road that one does not want to be on in anything smaller
than a large car. It does, however, have a hill on it and I'm pleased
to make it over the brow without too much difficulty. As the hill
flattens out, there is enough width to turn without problem in the
entrance to a National Trust property. There is, however, a difficulty.
A car is coming the other way, and the driver looks at me, slows down,
and gawps just at the point where I want to turn. I slow down and gawp
back. The car driver looks embarrassed and rushes off, just in time for
me to do a 180 degree turn in the wider space and head back. The hill
on the return leg is steeper, and I UPD near the top. Quite pleased,
however, as I nearly made it. Remount at the top, eschewing the
telegraph pole, and back into the village. Go past home, turn round in
the pub car park, up onto the pavement and am pleased to dismount
almost elegantly six inches from the front door.
On Sunday, I decide to go along the cycle track which runs from
Nailsworth to Stroud and meet the missus at Waitrose. Park at Nailworth
and am pleased to roll off the edge of the kerb (another bete noir)
without UPD, down the slope and up the double kerb at the beginning of
the cycle track (a third bete noir for this weekend). The cycle track
runs for about four miles into Stroud, mostly flat (it's a former
railway line) with a well-beaten surface of gravel , tarmac and packed
mud. No problems for most of the way, it's very quiet with just a few
family groups out walking or cycling. There are two big dips along the
route: the first one doesn't give a problem, the second one causes me
to UPD on the climb, but it's a tidy UPD and I've got a good fraction
of the way up it so am pleased.
As the track reaches the outskirts of Stroud, another leg branches off
through a housing estate. The first part of this has a steep downhill,
with a thoughtfully placed rock at the bottom to stop cyclists cycling
over someones front garden. Ignoring images of front teeth being spat
over the lawn, I manage the tight turn and the drop over the kerb and
carry on. Another bete noir beaten! Onwards through the houses, where
on a previous visit a loud voice coming from someone in thier garden on
a mobile 'phone said "Holy [censored], there's an old bloke on a unicycle
going past!".
Onwards, an awkward turn through the gates at the end of a path, across
a quiet road, up the kerb and a steep path which has always beaten me
before. I'm really on a roll today, making it up the slope and a tidy
dismount at the pedestrian crossing at the top. This is definetely the
steepest slope I've managed so far. Five bete noirs ticked off so far.
Cross the road, walk up the steps on the far side and back onto the
cycle track. This is now easy stuff on a smooth surface.
At the end is a choice: a sharp left-hander up a steep slope which is
hard even on a mountain bike, or head off into the woods on a rough
track which looks as if it ought to go where I want to be. I choose the
latter. The track looks muddy: a few metres in, there are some bumps. I
clear those nicely, then a steep downhill. The mud is slippery, the
wheel shoots off and I UPD. I land on my left foot, which shoots out
from under me with a sharp pain from behind the knee. Onto the right
foot, and I run out down the slope - well, more slide down it, with
every landing on the left foot making the pain worse. I stagger to a
halt twenty metres further on, unable to walk. It takes ten minutes to
limp back up to the cycle, then another ten to regain the main road.
Ring the wife who is now shopping in Waitrose and ask her to come to
collect me.
It seems ages to wait the ten minutes before her car arrives. We return
to the supermarket to retrieve her trolley, and she blags a bag of ice
from the fish department to hold on my leg while I have a cup of coffee
and she finishes the shopping. Back home, a man-sized ibuprofen helps,
followed by a trip to the pub on crutches (left over from first
attempts on the cycle a few months back) for beer, and mockery from the
locals.
The pain is now eased by anti-inflammatories, beer, gin and wine. It
may, however, be a while before I head into the woods again. 🙁
Funny old weekend.
--
martin.phillips
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