Racing Chihuahua

Was shoddy, interspersed with showers of cr*p, disappointment, a knife in the guts and much precipitation.

Several nights spent staring at the ceiling, which doesn’t get any more interesting as the clock crawls to dawn. Despondent, motivation in minuses. The cat got fed and that’s about it.

Then friends, the ones that matter, ring to check, just because and it helps. And a ride, a ‘proper’ one for which I’m late and contrite. But it’s ‘no bother’ and a smile. Much admiring of the new and exceedingly lovely bike. Dusty trails, properly warm, even by my reptilian standards. Gilet and armwarmers dispensed, whiter than white exposed to sunlight. Natter, tea, cheese-straws, singletrack, more smiles. Things get put where they should be.

Shop for breakfast, assist in it’s cooking, hit the sofa but it’s no good. My head’s full of cotton wool soaked in treacle, limbs are shakey lead. Back to bed with eyelids like anvils. Sleep till 4ish. Prep dinner, fling on kit ‘cos the sun’s been shining from deep blue everytime I’ve unglued an eye and looked up. I can’t not, you understand, no matter how silly. Promptly get lost, back track. Wibbles. Bearable.

First climb, long and draggey at the best of. Drop a few gears, keep dropping. Get to the top, sweating, shaking, blurred. Rummage, shovel in food, sit. The light’s against me and I know I’ll have to take the short cut but I pretend and take the turn past the farm with the lake and the swoopy bit. The sinking sun’s reflected in still water. Stand and stare, letting it seep gently in.

Turn regretfully to the short cut. It’s getting gloomy and a bit nippy. But my jerseys more visible than a black windproof and the cold makes me feel ‘alive’. Zip back down the climb. There’s just a glimmer of light by the time I get back. Employ all the emergency measures I can muster. Sleep comes like anaesthetic.

The inevitable’s arrived overnight, the special tools are out but Monday’s are supposed to hurt right? My head’s half treacle, but half dust ‘n sunshine, with a smattering of living, the echo of body plus bike, movement, not sadness, stagnation and ceilings. It’s drowning out the noise. Worth it? Every time and if you don’t get it I don’t care and I probably just don’t want to know you anymore.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, March 25th, 2009 at 2:46 am and is filed under Riding. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.