For some reason Mr Garmin decided that today he would change his display to metric. I think he was just pointing out that he would have very much liked to join those departing on the “French Trip” this weekend. Well, at least he would get the chance to ride with most of them this morning, I thought, on their last trial ride before the great off. How exciting, everyone testing the luggage carrying capabilities of their bikes and showing off their prowess in getting a quart in to a pint pot. Kath was the only wheeler at Union Corner, and even she said that she was just about to go home again if I hadn’t turned up. It was the same story at the other place; Mike 2, Paul and Keith. “2 wet 4 me”, texted Bernie. There was slight rain and everyone seemed to have a different idea about whether it was going to cease, continue, or get worse, but there was no difference of opinion as to our destination; Miss Molly’s.
Without either Bernie or Fred to guide us it was left to me to lead off – the usual route out to Carnkie, Bolenowe and Troon; except that, to shorten the journey, we turned right when we hit the Helston to Camborne Rd. Just over the boundary into Camborne I suffered a deflation of the front tyre. Quickly the others formed their bikes into a circle, as protection from possible attack. However, as I removed my front wheel I became aware of some strange guy pulling at my saddle. “Excuse me, young man, but do you mind enlightening me of your intentions”, I said. “Well, if you’re having the wheels, I’m having the saddle” was his reply.
Inner tube replaced we continued on our way and reached Moll’s just as the rain stopped. Our diminutive number fitted comfortably around the table in the window and, the café being unusually quiet, we were soon served. Good food deserves good conversation, and today was no exception.
Surprisingly, there was little more than the odd drop of rain as we set off back home; Brea Village, cycle track to St Euny and Piece. Just as we reached 4 Lanes I suffered my second deflationary experience, don’t these things happen in such lovely places, and I extracted a minute slither of granite that I had previously missed from the front tyre. Mike 2, having failed to notice that we had all stopped, cycled on and was at Stithians before he realised he was on his own. The sun was shinning for the last few miles. 57 kilometres for me, you can do the math.