No, no, no, no, no! The Lord wasn't going to let me have it that easy.
I had done a few bike checks a few days before the ride. Shortly after I decided to commit to this silly bike ride I dug out my old Raleigh Aggressor mountain bike. It was looking a little dirty and rusty, but then I can't even remember when it was bought. All I remember is that it was bought for me one Christmas, and I know it was at a bicycle shop next to Cantilever Park, the home of Warrington Town FC. I don't think that shop is there now.
It is at least 10 years old, and deciding to do a ride on this could have had serious consequences if it remained unchecked. So I gave the thing a good cleaning. I tried to adjust the handle bar height, but the Allen key wouldn't budge. I got out a hammer, and knocked the thing around, slowly turning they keyhole. Or so I thought. Turns out all I did was wear the Allen key down so it now resembles a circle.
A good start! But luckily I only needed it adjusting a teeny bit. The handle bars were level with the saddle, which apparently isn't the end of the world if you're riding a road bike on a seemingly flat route. So they were left alone.
The second problem I had was my tyres. Now, the last time I rode the bike I went through a phase where I seemed to keep picking up punctures. This was when I was playing for Culcheth Eagles ARLFC, and would ride to training during the summer. A trip of 4.4 miles there, and 4.4 miles back after getting flogged in a pre-season session. I was 17 at the time, and I'm now 23. However back in 2007, I managed to pick up two punctures in the space of two weeks.
This first saw a thin but shark piece of wood pierce the front tyre, the second saw a metal nail rip through the front tyre. I walked the remainder of the journey home on both occasions.
So six years on, how were my tyres coping? Not much better. Both were flat as pancakes, so I used the foot pump to inflate them.
I rode up and down the empty street to see if the brakes and gears still worked. They did... just! And before I knew it, the rain came tumbling down, so the bike was back in the garage until Saturday.
Saturday came. I pushed the bike out of the garage, and gave the tyres a goo grope... only to find they weren't as inflated as they had been earlier in the week. However they didn't feel too deflated. I plonked my fat arse on the saddle and looked down. The back wheel wasn't flat and touching the surface of the front drive, but it didn't look fully inflated. Neither did the front tyre.
Common sense evaded me, and I set off for Crosfields. I was already late, and was set to miss kick off.
Why was I riding to Crosfields? They had a game on, and it was on the other side of town. A perfect excuse for a bike ride, if you ask me.
I wore many layers for the ride, in what can only be described as a bitterly cold drizzle. Two t-shirts, a thick long sleeve rugby top, a water proof jacket, ISC Compression shorts for my hamstring, tracksuit bottoms, rugby socks and trainers. That was my choice of apparel.
Interestingly, no helmet!
Yes, I took a risk. A serious one considering I planned to ride down Cromwell Avenue, a narrow main road that pretty much links all of north-west Warrington. It is also a handy road for shoppers going to either Westbrook Shopping Centre, or Gemini Retail Park. Bear in mind I was riding down there on a Saturday!
It wasn't pleasant, but my handy knowledge of the Highway Code kept me safe. Stick to the left side of the road, don't swerve out, ride over as many uncomfortable pot holes and drainage grids as possible, use your hands to indicate to drivers where you're going.
All was going well until I got to the roundabout at Cavendish Close and Old Hall Road. My mistake was thinking this was the right-hand turn to go down Canons Road, linking me to Hood Lane North.
Nope!
But me trying to be clever made me look like a dick... if anyone had actually been watching me. I decided instead of turning around straight away, was to follow my sense of direction and use the residential streets to come out on Canons Road. There was bound to be a back alley which would lead me out.
Instead I was met with the Manchester to Liverpool railway line. The only way over? The bridge on the main road.
D'oh!
Back I went, and I eventually found myself at Crosfields' ground 20 minutes after kick off.
The route I took overall was 6.4 miles long (including the diversion), and took me 45 minutes to complete.
After a 16-all draw I made my way home, but this time I went through the town centre. I cycled pretty much as the crow flies cutting my distance by almost half. Sankey Way, Froghall Lane, Tanners Lane, Orford Lane, Orford Ave, Hallfields Road, Smith Drive, Hilden Road....
Then my arse gave up on me. I was wearing compression shorts and tracksuit bottoms. Not the best protection, or the timing, for a sensitive bum to start crying out.
I had rode, in all, for over an hour. I got off at the traffic lights at the crossroads and walked the remaining distance home. Not too far, only 0.4 miles.
I text my mate, and told him if he was serious about doing this ride, he should get himself some proper cycling shorts with padding. He text me back an hour later saying his bike saddle resembled that of a dildo!
I'm starting to think this may be more trouble than its worth!
@nickwoody89
The second problem I had was my tyres. Now, the last time I rode the bike I went through a phase where I seemed to keep picking up punctures. This was when I was playing for Culcheth Eagles ARLFC, and would ride to training during the summer. A trip of 4.4 miles there, and 4.4 miles back after getting flogged in a pre-season session. I was 17 at the time, and I'm now 23. However back in 2007, I managed to pick up two punctures in the space of two weeks.
This first saw a thin but shark piece of wood pierce the front tyre, the second saw a metal nail rip through the front tyre. I walked the remainder of the journey home on both occasions.
So six years on, how were my tyres coping? Not much better. Both were flat as pancakes, so I used the foot pump to inflate them.
I rode up and down the empty street to see if the brakes and gears still worked. They did... just! And before I knew it, the rain came tumbling down, so the bike was back in the garage until Saturday.
Saturday came. I pushed the bike out of the garage, and gave the tyres a goo grope... only to find they weren't as inflated as they had been earlier in the week. However they didn't feel too deflated. I plonked my fat arse on the saddle and looked down. The back wheel wasn't flat and touching the surface of the front drive, but it didn't look fully inflated. Neither did the front tyre.
Common sense evaded me, and I set off for Crosfields. I was already late, and was set to miss kick off.
Why was I riding to Crosfields? They had a game on, and it was on the other side of town. A perfect excuse for a bike ride, if you ask me.
I wore many layers for the ride, in what can only be described as a bitterly cold drizzle. Two t-shirts, a thick long sleeve rugby top, a water proof jacket, ISC Compression shorts for my hamstring, tracksuit bottoms, rugby socks and trainers. That was my choice of apparel.
Interestingly, no helmet!
Yes, I took a risk. A serious one considering I planned to ride down Cromwell Avenue, a narrow main road that pretty much links all of north-west Warrington. It is also a handy road for shoppers going to either Westbrook Shopping Centre, or Gemini Retail Park. Bear in mind I was riding down there on a Saturday!
It wasn't pleasant, but my handy knowledge of the Highway Code kept me safe. Stick to the left side of the road, don't swerve out, ride over as many uncomfortable pot holes and drainage grids as possible, use your hands to indicate to drivers where you're going.
All was going well until I got to the roundabout at Cavendish Close and Old Hall Road. My mistake was thinking this was the right-hand turn to go down Canons Road, linking me to Hood Lane North.
Nope!
But me trying to be clever made me look like a dick... if anyone had actually been watching me. I decided instead of turning around straight away, was to follow my sense of direction and use the residential streets to come out on Canons Road. There was bound to be a back alley which would lead me out.
Instead I was met with the Manchester to Liverpool railway line. The only way over? The bridge on the main road.
D'oh!
Back I went, and I eventually found myself at Crosfields' ground 20 minutes after kick off.
The route I took overall was 6.4 miles long (including the diversion), and took me 45 minutes to complete.
After a 16-all draw I made my way home, but this time I went through the town centre. I cycled pretty much as the crow flies cutting my distance by almost half. Sankey Way, Froghall Lane, Tanners Lane, Orford Lane, Orford Ave, Hallfields Road, Smith Drive, Hilden Road....
Then my arse gave up on me. I was wearing compression shorts and tracksuit bottoms. Not the best protection, or the timing, for a sensitive bum to start crying out.
I had rode, in all, for over an hour. I got off at the traffic lights at the crossroads and walked the remaining distance home. Not too far, only 0.4 miles.
I text my mate, and told him if he was serious about doing this ride, he should get himself some proper cycling shorts with padding. He text me back an hour later saying his bike saddle resembled that of a dildo!
I'm starting to think this may be more trouble than its worth!
@nickwoody89
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