Monthly Archives: August 2010

Preston Drivers Are Dicks. Official.

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Road Rash
Elbow, meet bonnet

I’m the first to admit that correlation doesn’t imply causality, but I rather think that Road Safety Analysis Ltd. missed a point when they published their latest Child Casualty Report linking child poverty with road accidents. Topping the list of worst places for kids is, no surprise to those who ride bikes there, Preston.

A combination of pathological road design* and shit driving is more to blame. I went for my first two road rides at the weekend since the knee op. For the first I headed into South Ribble. 40 minutes local loop. No issues.

For the second ride I rode into Preston. What a difference.

  • A lorry pulled up alongside me while I was in the cycle lane. Then flashed a car to reverse off a shop forecourt into the road in front of us. What about me and my right to continue my way safely? You haven’t even seen me have you. Cock.
  • The car that the lorry had flashed out paid attention only to the lorry headlights, not the fact that there was still a cyclist oncoming in the cycle lane. Cock.
  • Heading downhill on the dual carriageway at 30 keeping up with traffic a fat bitch tried to overtake just before the dual carriageway ended. She got alongside before realising that she wouldn’t be able to finish the move. Once there was room to pass her equally fat passenger felt it appropriate to hurl abuse from the window as they went past. Annoyed at being slower than a bloke on a humble pushbike. Get over it love. I may not be the slimmest bloke on a bike, but you’ll be dead of a heart attack before you reach my age fatty.
  • The classic overtake then turn left manoeuvre. Cock.
  • A woman in a pointless suburban SUV pulling out of a side road to my left onto the dual carriageway didn’t stop at the white line, until she, not her bumper, was level with it putting three feet of SUV bonnet into my path. All the while looking to her left – where there is precisely zero traffic coming from. Because it’s a dual carriageway. When she did eventually look in my direction she never even acknowledged me, looking straight up the road past me, not even taking me in as she scanned only for things as big as cars.
  • A young lad on his mobile phone pulled out of a side road in front of me. Cock!
  • A guy overtook against double white lines on a blind brow, so close I could feel his wing mirror. Some satisfaction as the shout of Cock! through his open window made him jump.

Preston drivers are the reason we have gun laws in this country, because if you shot every fucktard on the roads it would soon be a ghost town.

* Lancashire has well respected guidelines for cycling infrastructure design. The problem is that it doesn’t bother following them itself.

Enforced layoff has its benefits

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New Order, Confusion, German promo on green vinyl
It should be Everything’s Gone Green

Not being able to ride I have sorted out the spare room as a home office from which to run the business. As part of that I have set up a record deck on one side of the desk, and several feet of vinyl sits to my left.

You can’t create and enjoy a playlist in iTunes that is based solely on vinyl colour.

I make no apologies for the 80s.

Finished, finally

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Too fast to read
Caution. Middle Aged IT Managers GET OFF NOW*

We made the mistake of building Kirstys geared Spot down to an insurance limit. Since I started stealing it for bivvies I’ve been putting that to rights. A Chris King headset from Tim at the weekend was the final upgrade. After eight years the bike is finally finished to a standard Kirsty is happy with.

And, yes, that does include eggbeaters.

* and come back when you can ride properly

Purest green

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Purest Green
“I hold here, in my mortal hand, a nugget of purest Green”, Lord Percy Percy

The dryest start to a year since records began* has been followed by rain every day since United Utilities declared a hosepipe ban. Lakes that were previously denuded of water to such an extent that the shoreline was practically the continental shelf** are now replete with the wet stuff. Still, prior to arthoscopy on my left knee – coincidentally the one scarred when I was knocked off just over a year ago, draw your own conclusions – we managed to get some fun, and dry rides out in the Lakes.

Of course thirsty plants practically slurped up the moisture and went on a growth frenzy, resulting in greenery of the very greenest.

Rather fab.

Which rides also confirmed that the Hunter is truly the absolute dogs. Recently self-employed status – no skiving off even with a knee that resembles drunk smiley – means I can’t ride with the absolute abandon of those with sick leave, but that didn’t stop it flying round.

It was also nice as a couple out riding together to confuse those men who inflict their hobby on their families*** by riding “the wrong bikes”. To whit the lady has the nice suspension bike and gears and shiny stuff, and his is a hardtail from someone they’ve never even heard of and covered in cack.

The aforementioned biro in the old knee now means no more riding for a few weeks which scuppered SSUK and Kielder 100 for this year.

Ho hum.

* Probably

** Such as can exist within the bounds of Cumbria

*** You know. The sort who ride a 25lb full suspension thing then wonder why the wife and kids aren’t enjoying pushing 35lb lumpen cheap end hardtails with inappropriate tyres and it’s going to be back to the cafe early and uncomfortable silence in the car all the way home and no getting his end away for a week. She’ll blame the inappropriate saddle but you know it’s simmering resentment.