[Sweaty Eds]

Remember boys, it’s not actually a race.

So, the three of us, Dan, Gary and my Sweaty self agreed at the start to make the Daffodil a social occasion and determined to enjoy it without killing ourselves. I’ve got to be honest, I wasn’t sure how much fun it was going to be, what with the sub-zero temperatures and Arctic wind. Myself and Dan were rooting round in our cars looking for extra layers, but, as we all know, Gary is made of stronger stuff and he was liberally applying the factor 20 to his exposed limbs and adjusting his sunglasses just before the off. He did make one concession to the weather by putting gloves on.

We rose above the frantic scramble up Pendine hill, opting instead to bide our time and bask in the adultation of the gathered masses and were propelled up by a thousand helping hands and hushed good wishes.

Our leisurely rate meant we had plenty of breath for conversation, we discussed the usual stuff, shoes and ships and sealing wax, cabbages and kings, why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings. I did once venture onto a legal topic only to find that Dan has a special app on his Garmin that actually keeps a running total of the amount payable for advice given by a senior partner on a Sunday. Graciously, he agreed to accept my car and two of my children as a downpayment.

The first 16 or so miles passed without incident. It was at the refreshment stop in Trelech that our differences became apparent. Dan showed his class by insisting on a table cloth and I betrayed my Tasker Milward school roots by jumping the queue and inhaling Welsh cakes at a tremendous rate. Gary has obviously done this sort of before because we witnessed a masterclass in queue management. Dan and I had both remounted before we realised that Gary was still patiently queuing by the Welsh cakes and biscuits, helping himself as he passed, politely accepting the proffered tea then simply rejoining the rear of the queue and starting the process again. It was on his fourth or fifth circuit that we managed to steer him back to his bike and to the matters in hand.

It was around this time that we were joined by Kim and Ian, or more correctly a silent, sunken eyed version of Ian. Not a squeak passed his lips the whole time we cycled with him, not even when I misjudged an attempt to help him up a hill by pushing his saddle. My outstretched fingers did not meet any resistance as they disappeared into an area slightly above his saddle, I was glad of the warmth and Ian can be reassured that his prostate felt perfectly smooth to my untrained digits.

On we went and the downhills loomed. I’m ashamed to say that we lost Gary when he stopped to calm some distressed ponies.(Insert your own horse meat/butcher chairman joke here). Myself and Dan swept up Stag Jones and stormed over the Tuscan hills surrounding Laugharne to the finish, warmth and pasta.

I had a great day, thanks to all, especially Dan and Gary. Well done Ian.

Miles 43.3

Total Ascent 3961 ft

Cups of tea/coffee 6

Welsh cakes possibly numbering in the 20’s

Horse Whisperers 1

[Sweaty Eds]

Just a reminder about tomorrow.

A beer and a chat, all welcome. See you at 7.

[Sweaty Eds]

A couple of years ago I had to have nasal surgery. One of my sinus cavities was blocked and didn’t drain properly. This meant that it was constantly filled with horrible infected pus. In addition to that the membranes at the top of my nasal passages were inflamed which meant I couldn’t breath properly. The procedure involved microsurgery to open up my sinus and cauterisation of the membranes higher up. Simple day case, in at the crack of dawn, on the table about 10am, surgery, packing of nostrils with unfeasibly large amounts of dressing, dressings out, ‘slight discomfort’, some bleeding and home. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I had it done, my life has been massively improved by it, but I am also glad that I didn’t have a trial run the week before.

As the word smith Morrissey said,

‘I can laugh about it now, but at the time it was terrible’

This would also be a fair description of my experience of the Daffodil Ride and, like my fast spinning friend Dan, however much I enjoy it afterwards, I find that doing the route once a year is sufficient.

Having said all that, I really enjoyed today’s ride. Great to see so many people out and a few new faces. I fear that my riding partner, Gwenllian (did she mention her mother’s maiden name was Pendleton?), will not be long for the Flat Earthers and is bound for higher and faster things.

I look forward to next Sunday.

[Sweaty Eds]

Celia, I have a strong urge to read your 100 words.

[Sweaty Eds]

At 9am sharp on a clear but crisp February morning the six of us, Beloved Chairman Rees, Celia Pantani, Dan ‘Cadence’ Lewis, Jonathan ‘Marginal Gains’ Doig, Gary Hotpants and my Sweaty self set out from Bloomfield.

Unbeknownst to us, Narberth town centre was in a dreadful state with broken glass and faeces strewn everywhere. Apparently, it wasn’t the usual culprits i.e. Saundersfoot GP’s letting off steam, rather a gang of horse rustlers had broken into a local award winning butcher’s yard intending to ride away next week’s Nag Bol. Anyway, it seems that the steeds were more spirited than anticipated and rather than go quietly they stampeded up and down the High Street smashing windows and whinnying til the early hours. Unfortunately, Gary rode across the remains of one of these windows and punctured. Now, knowing that Gary is a fairly minimalist sort of guy, (shorts in sub-zero temperatures, very rarely seen in gloves, that sort of thing) it was always a long shot that he may have a spare tube, he didn’t but he did have a phone to call his wife to come and get him.

Miles 0.5 Punctures 1 Remaining Dynamos 5

It was at about mile 1.5 that we passed the tractor cutting the roadside hawthorn bushes and at about mile 1.6 that we stopped for our Beloved Chairman to repair his puncture. To speed things up I offered to assist. In hindsight, I suppose I really should have taken my Seal Skin gloves off, but it was cold and I didn’t think we would be that long. If I have learnt nothing else today at least now I understand why you don’t see many seals doing jobs that require any degree of manual dexterity, such as dentistry, eye surgery or, indeed, bicycle repair. I must be honest, I don’t think I was that much help, I think the low point may have been when I was pumping up the freshly repaired tyre and Dan was explaining to me how careful you have to be with these new micro-pumps. Certainly you have to be quite a lot more careful than I was with my flippers for hands. I’m sorry to say that when I handed our Beloved Chairman his wheel back, the valve, rather than sitting flush in it’s housing, was at an angle approaching 90 degrees. Luckily, Gary arriving in his wife’s car on his way home caused a slight distraction and meant that the potential for a nasty scene was avoided. However, I think I may be below even Ian ‘The Wrench’ Walton on the Dynamo list of top twenty helpers in a mechanical crisis.

Miles 1.6 Punctures 2 Red Faced Dynamos 1

Onwards and upwards we went with Celia and Andrew very kindly staying in sight, Jon showing off his new found fitness and Dan aiming for an average cadence in three figures. We were joined near Maenchochog by Nick G and friend who didn’t seem to notice that they were cycling uphill. As the mountains loomed into view I peeled off home to work on my Flat Earther’s newsletter.

Miles 12 Punctures 2 Recently Swelled Dynamos Group 6 Dynamos still to join group 3? (Ants, Bevs and Jams)

[Sweaty Eds]

Before setting out this morning I checked the Collins online dictionary for a definition of brighten up

Brighten up – a relative term meaning;

1. to make bright or become brighter

2. to make or become cheerful

So far, so good, I though.

It also documented, a little further down the page, how ‘brighten up’ can relate to an improvement in weather conditions, it even mentioned warm sunshine.

I know hindsight is a wonderful thing and perhaps I was a little naive to believe anything Valleyman says, certainly I wouldn’t trust him to safely navigate me from Prince’s Gate to Narberth High Street and he would be way down my list when it came to people I would ask to help me with a puncture, but, I thought, with his Tom and Barbara ‘Good Life’ style self sufficient existence, he would be more reliable when it came to forecasting the weather. Now, I know he’s not inherently evil like Huw ‘Pol Pot’ Morgan, or a sadist like Nick ‘Marquis de Sade’ Brown but, after this, I’ve got my doubts whether he’s quite the upfront clean living guy he paints himself as.

Anyway, the sense in which Valleyman uses the term ‘brighten up’ must be very similar to the how Mrs Noah used it when she told her husband not to bother finishing the Ark because it was brightening up.

To be honest, I didn’t set off at bang on 9 because I thought I’d give the weather an opportunity to ‘brighten up’. After a couple of hours of brightening up the stair-rod-style rain had brightened into a pleasant heavy drizzle and I set off towards the North. I passed NB almost immediately, I think it was him, well it looked like Nick would look after a couple of hours sitting a tepid bath.

I wasn’t intending to following the prescribed route because I wasn’t really sure the weather was going to brighten that much over Maenchlochog way, but this meant that I’d be stuck in the Gelli/Llawhaden/Bethesda hill triangle. It’s no secret that I don’t usually seek out the hills. Half my brain knows that the only way to improve on them is to go out and climb more of them (that and lose a couple of stone) but the other half, the stronger half, knows that everyone waits at the top so what’s the hurry?

I was out for about an hour an a half and quite enjoyed it really, I mean you can only get soaked to the skin once can’t you and once you’re wet, you’re wet.

I remember, a few years ago when I did a fair bit of water sports, that there was a sure way to warm yourself up when wearing a wetsuit, is there a cycling/lycra equivalent?

[Sweaty Eds]

Entered

[Sweaty Eds]

What’s a Daffofil?

[Sweaty Eds]

By jolly, ValleyMan, I think you’re on to something.

I’m pretty sure that to practise medicine you have to have sworn to abide by the Hepoo-cratic Oath.

[Sweaty Eds]

Mr McSlinkster Doolittle,

Unbelievable as it may seem, I saw those self same baboons in a car later on in the afternoon yesterday. Beautiful shy creatures both of them, interestingly it was the beast with the more sloping forehead (the one that I’d assumed was the less intelligent of the mating pair) that was driving. Obviously, he had very little control of the vehicle, swerving this way and that, randomly stopping in the High Street and scratching. I thought he was trying to communicate with me because he wound the window down and gabbered something. I kept on walking because I don’t speak Baboon.

It was just after the baboons had kangarooed off into the snowy distance that I was told something, strictly on the QT you understand, that made sense of Roger, his affliction (you know, the one in his saddle area) and his fascination with the shepee. Now I know this is just a rumour and that you shouldn’t believe all you hear at the bar on a snowy Sunday afternoon in The Ivy, and you know I’m not one to spread gossip, but, apparently, it was his testing of the prototype of the ‘Hepoo’, (a Heath Robinson cycle crapping contraption) that upset things in his back passage. Obviously it’s pure speculation, but I was informed that the big debate with the design of the ‘Hepoo’ was whether to make the collection funnel connection an internal or external appendage. Apparently, it was prototype #3 (internal) that did the damage to our competitive club-mate and for prototype #4 the connection will very definitely be external.

[Sweaty Eds]

Didn’t John Noakes have a dog called Shepee? Quite badly behaved if I remember rightly. Kudos to you Celia if you can beat Roger up a climb carrying an unruly Border Collie under your arm. Or are you using dogs husky-style to pull you around? Perhaps I could borrow one tomorrow if the forecast snow arrives.

Keeping with an animal theme, has anyone else noticed how there are no horses in any of the fields in the Greater Ludchurch area. Always struck me as strange. Anyway, good to see that a local award winning butcher has got those secret recipe French burgers back in stock, my kids love ’em.

[Sweaty Eds]

Great Sporting Lies

As the pressure to succeed in all forms of our sporting lives increases so the temptation to cheat or lie becomes too much for some individuals. I have listed a few of the more famous or, indeed, infamous examples below. In some cases it is obvious what the individuals had to gain, in others it’s a little less clear cut.

So, in no particular order.

The Russian Olympic Modern Pentathlete, Boris Onischenko, (alhough he wasn’t especially honest) who rigged up his fencing sword to register a successful hit at random times during his contests. Result; found out, thrown out and humiliated.

Diego Maradona and the Hand of God. Chubby little Diego somehow convinced the ref that he managed to outjump strapping Peter Shilton and nod the ball into the net for the opening goal of the World Cup semi-final when, as everyone else knew, he’d actually used his hand. Result; quite brilliant second goal, another World Cup win for Argentina, revenge for The Sun’s ‘Gotcha’ headline? No remorse

Ben Johnson winning the 1988 100m Olympic gold with a little help from his Swedish/Serbian friend, Anna Bolic Steroid. Result; found out, thrown out, humiliated.

My mate, Simon Pearson, who, during a school games lesson cross-country run, happened across his Nan in her car. She gave him a lift for two of the five miles and he won the race by about twenty minutes. Result; I think we had the last laugh really because he got himself selected for the school cross-country squad and ended up 72nd and last in the County Sports.

Quite a lot of skullduggery has been unearthed in cycling circles. A few years ago there was that chap who had a condom full of someone else’s urine strapped under his arm that he squeezed out when he was drug tested. There was poor old Marco Pantani and Tom Simpson and now we all wait to see what Lance will say to Oprah, but the biggest cycling lie happened right in our own back yard.

It appears that a cyclist of previous exemplary repute sent a text earlier today saying he couldn’t join us our regular club ride because he had ‘man-flu’. Well everyone on the ride was obviously concerned, in fact one new member was so upset that he could not continue past Bluestone. The conversation for the whole ride revolved around this one topic. One of the GP’s with us insisted we swing past his surgery so he could pick up the very latest antiviral to see if this would help our Beloved Chairman. Well, to cut a long story short, when we rolled through the gates of the Ludchurch Manor House and up to the imposing entrance, we found Lady and Viscount Rees at home but no sign of his Lordship. ‘Out on his bike’ we were told and with that we were given two minutes to get off the estate before she let the dogs out.

Devastated doesn’t really seem a strong enough term to describe the emotions of the assembled throng. Let’s just say that we all knew how that little boy felt, who, after the Chicago White Sox had been accused of throwing the 1919 World Series, shouted to Shoeless Jackson, ‘Say it ain’t so, Joe’. So we say to you, ‘How couldya, Butcher!’.

[Sweaty Eds]

Forgive me Abbot for I have sinned.

It has been two days since my last ride, but when I woke up this morning I thought I could sneak a quick one under the cover of the mist. Unfortunately, I didn’t factor in the weekly tithe collection by Mother Superior and Our Most Reverend Father Rees.

Hear my prayer

Our Strava, which art on the internet,

Dynamos be thy name.

To Narberth we will come,

Cycling will be done, in Turbo,

As it is on Club Runs.

Give us this day our daily ride,

And forgive us our wheel-sucking,

As we forgive them that wheel-suck against us.

And lead us not into Tenby,

But deliver us from the Aces.

For high cadence and le souplesse

keep our legs spinning in circles

for ever and ever

Wiggins

[Sweaty Eds]

Sorry Abott

It must’ve been the glass of Buckfast Abbey wine I had on NYE, it always makes me hyper. I understand that I have done wrong and must make amends. I think the punishment of wearing the hair-shirt for a fortnight and chanting the mantra ‘I am not Sir Brad, I am a very naughty boy’ a thousand times after evensong is reasonable given the seriousness of the crime, but really, please, I beg you, don’t make me record and publish my mileage for the year.

I remain your penitent servant.

[Sweaty Eds]

for those that don’t know the original (well the cleaner version of the original)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OGWhjojt5dw

[Author]

Posts

[Sweaty Eds]

Remember boys, it’s not actually a race.

So, the three of us, Dan, Gary and my Sweaty self agreed at the start to make the Daffodil a social occasion and determined to enjoy it without killing ourselves. I’ve got to be honest, I wasn’t sure how much fun it was going to be, what with the sub-zero temperatures and Arctic wind. Myself and Dan were rooting round in our cars looking for extra layers, but, as we all know, Gary is made of stronger stuff and he was liberally applying the factor 20 to his exposed limbs and adjusting his sunglasses just before the off. He did make one concession to the weather by putting gloves on.

We rose above the frantic scramble up Pendine hill, opting instead to bide our time and bask in the adultation of the gathered masses and were propelled up by a thousand helping hands and hushed good wishes.

Our leisurely rate meant we had plenty of breath for conversation, we discussed the usual stuff, shoes and ships and sealing wax, cabbages and kings, why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings. I did once venture onto a legal topic only to find that Dan has a special app on his Garmin that actually keeps a running total of the amount payable for advice given by a senior partner on a Sunday. Graciously, he agreed to accept my car and two of my children as a downpayment.

The first 16 or so miles passed without incident. It was at the refreshment stop in Trelech that our differences became apparent. Dan showed his class by insisting on a table cloth and I betrayed my Tasker Milward school roots by jumping the queue and inhaling Welsh cakes at a tremendous rate. Gary has obviously done this sort of before because we witnessed a masterclass in queue management. Dan and I had both remounted before we realised that Gary was still patiently queuing by the Welsh cakes and biscuits, helping himself as he passed, politely accepting the proffered tea then simply rejoining the rear of the queue and starting the process again. It was on his fourth or fifth circuit that we managed to steer him back to his bike and to the matters in hand.

It was around this time that we were joined by Kim and Ian, or more correctly a silent, sunken eyed version of Ian. Not a squeak passed his lips the whole time we cycled with him, not even when I misjudged an attempt to help him up a hill by pushing his saddle. My outstretched fingers did not meet any resistance as they disappeared into an area slightly above his saddle, I was glad of the warmth and Ian can be reassured that his prostate felt perfectly smooth to my untrained digits.

On we went and the downhills loomed. I’m ashamed to say that we lost Gary when he stopped to calm some distressed ponies.(Insert your own horse meat/butcher chairman joke here). Myself and Dan swept up Stag Jones and stormed over the Tuscan hills surrounding Laugharne to the finish, warmth and pasta.

I had a great day, thanks to all, especially Dan and Gary. Well done Ian.

Miles 43.3

Total Ascent 3961 ft

Cups of tea/coffee 6

Welsh cakes possibly numbering in the 20’s

Horse Whisperers 1

[Sweaty Eds]

Just a reminder about tomorrow.

A beer and a chat, all welcome. See you at 7.

[Sweaty Eds]

A couple of years ago I had to have nasal surgery. One of my sinus cavities was blocked and didn’t drain properly. This meant that it was constantly filled with horrible infected pus. In addition to that the membranes at the top of my nasal passages were inflamed which meant I couldn’t breath properly. The procedure involved microsurgery to open up my sinus and cauterisation of the membranes higher up. Simple day case, in at the crack of dawn, on the table about 10am, surgery, packing of nostrils with unfeasibly large amounts of dressing, dressings out, ‘slight discomfort’, some bleeding and home. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I had it done, my life has been massively improved by it, but I am also glad that I didn’t have a trial run the week before.

As the word smith Morrissey said,

‘I can laugh about it now, but at the time it was terrible’

This would also be a fair description of my experience of the Daffodil Ride and, like my fast spinning friend Dan, however much I enjoy it afterwards, I find that doing the route once a year is sufficient.

Having said all that, I really enjoyed today’s ride. Great to see so many people out and a few new faces. I fear that my riding partner, Gwenllian (did she mention her mother’s maiden name was Pendleton?), will not be long for the Flat Earthers and is bound for higher and faster things.

I look forward to next Sunday.

[Sweaty Eds]

Celia, I have a strong urge to read your 100 words.

[Sweaty Eds]

At 9am sharp on a clear but crisp February morning the six of us, Beloved Chairman Rees, Celia Pantani, Dan ‘Cadence’ Lewis, Jonathan ‘Marginal Gains’ Doig, Gary Hotpants and my Sweaty self set out from Bloomfield.

Unbeknownst to us, Narberth town centre was in a dreadful state with broken glass and faeces strewn everywhere. Apparently, it wasn’t the usual culprits i.e. Saundersfoot GP’s letting off steam, rather a gang of horse rustlers had broken into a local award winning butcher’s yard intending to ride away next week’s Nag Bol. Anyway, it seems that the steeds were more spirited than anticipated and rather than go quietly they stampeded up and down the High Street smashing windows and whinnying til the early hours. Unfortunately, Gary rode across the remains of one of these windows and punctured. Now, knowing that Gary is a fairly minimalist sort of guy, (shorts in sub-zero temperatures, very rarely seen in gloves, that sort of thing) it was always a long shot that he may have a spare tube, he didn’t but he did have a phone to call his wife to come and get him.

Miles 0.5 Punctures 1 Remaining Dynamos 5

It was at about mile 1.5 that we passed the tractor cutting the roadside hawthorn bushes and at about mile 1.6 that we stopped for our Beloved Chairman to repair his puncture. To speed things up I offered to assist. In hindsight, I suppose I really should have taken my Seal Skin gloves off, but it was cold and I didn’t think we would be that long. If I have learnt nothing else today at least now I understand why you don’t see many seals doing jobs that require any degree of manual dexterity, such as dentistry, eye surgery or, indeed, bicycle repair. I must be honest, I don’t think I was that much help, I think the low point may have been when I was pumping up the freshly repaired tyre and Dan was explaining to me how careful you have to be with these new micro-pumps. Certainly you have to be quite a lot more careful than I was with my flippers for hands. I’m sorry to say that when I handed our Beloved Chairman his wheel back, the valve, rather than sitting flush in it’s housing, was at an angle approaching 90 degrees. Luckily, Gary arriving in his wife’s car on his way home caused a slight distraction and meant that the potential for a nasty scene was avoided. However, I think I may be below even Ian ‘The Wrench’ Walton on the Dynamo list of top twenty helpers in a mechanical crisis.

Miles 1.6 Punctures 2 Red Faced Dynamos 1

Onwards and upwards we went with Celia and Andrew very kindly staying in sight, Jon showing off his new found fitness and Dan aiming for an average cadence in three figures. We were joined near Maenchochog by Nick G and friend who didn’t seem to notice that they were cycling uphill. As the mountains loomed into view I peeled off home to work on my Flat Earther’s newsletter.

Miles 12 Punctures 2 Recently Swelled Dynamos Group 6 Dynamos still to join group 3? (Ants, Bevs and Jams)

[Sweaty Eds]

Before setting out this morning I checked the Collins online dictionary for a definition of brighten up

Brighten up – a relative term meaning;

1. to make bright or become brighter

2. to make or become cheerful

So far, so good, I though.

It also documented, a little further down the page, how ‘brighten up’ can relate to an improvement in weather conditions, it even mentioned warm sunshine.

I know hindsight is a wonderful thing and perhaps I was a little naive to believe anything Valleyman says, certainly I wouldn’t trust him to safely navigate me from Prince’s Gate to Narberth High Street and he would be way down my list when it came to people I would ask to help me with a puncture, but, I thought, with his Tom and Barbara ‘Good Life’ style self sufficient existence, he would be more reliable when it came to forecasting the weather. Now, I know he’s not inherently evil like Huw ‘Pol Pot’ Morgan, or a sadist like Nick ‘Marquis de Sade’ Brown but, after this, I’ve got my doubts whether he’s quite the upfront clean living guy he paints himself as.

Anyway, the sense in which Valleyman uses the term ‘brighten up’ must be very similar to the how Mrs Noah used it when she told her husband not to bother finishing the Ark because it was brightening up.

To be honest, I didn’t set off at bang on 9 because I thought I’d give the weather an opportunity to ‘brighten up’. After a couple of hours of brightening up the stair-rod-style rain had brightened into a pleasant heavy drizzle and I set off towards the North. I passed NB almost immediately, I think it was him, well it looked like Nick would look after a couple of hours sitting a tepid bath.

I wasn’t intending to following the prescribed route because I wasn’t really sure the weather was going to brighten that much over Maenchlochog way, but this meant that I’d be stuck in the Gelli/Llawhaden/Bethesda hill triangle. It’s no secret that I don’t usually seek out the hills. Half my brain knows that the only way to improve on them is to go out and climb more of them (that and lose a couple of stone) but the other half, the stronger half, knows that everyone waits at the top so what’s the hurry?

I was out for about an hour an a half and quite enjoyed it really, I mean you can only get soaked to the skin once can’t you and once you’re wet, you’re wet.

I remember, a few years ago when I did a fair bit of water sports, that there was a sure way to warm yourself up when wearing a wetsuit, is there a cycling/lycra equivalent?

[Sweaty Eds]

Entered

[Sweaty Eds]

What’s a Daffofil?

[Sweaty Eds]

By jolly, ValleyMan, I think you’re on to something.

I’m pretty sure that to practise medicine you have to have sworn to abide by the Hepoo-cratic Oath.

[Sweaty Eds]

Mr McSlinkster Doolittle,

Unbelievable as it may seem, I saw those self same baboons in a car later on in the afternoon yesterday. Beautiful shy creatures both of them, interestingly it was the beast with the more sloping forehead (the one that I’d assumed was the less intelligent of the mating pair) that was driving. Obviously, he had very little control of the vehicle, swerving this way and that, randomly stopping in the High Street and scratching. I thought he was trying to communicate with me because he wound the window down and gabbered something. I kept on walking because I don’t speak Baboon.

It was just after the baboons had kangarooed off into the snowy distance that I was told something, strictly on the QT you understand, that made sense of Roger, his affliction (you know, the one in his saddle area) and his fascination with the shepee. Now I know this is just a rumour and that you shouldn’t believe all you hear at the bar on a snowy Sunday afternoon in The Ivy, and you know I’m not one to spread gossip, but, apparently, it was his testing of the prototype of the ‘Hepoo’, (a Heath Robinson cycle crapping contraption) that upset things in his back passage. Obviously it’s pure speculation, but I was informed that the big debate with the design of the ‘Hepoo’ was whether to make the collection funnel connection an internal or external appendage. Apparently, it was prototype #3 (internal) that did the damage to our competitive club-mate and for prototype #4 the connection will very definitely be external.

[Sweaty Eds]

Didn’t John Noakes have a dog called Shepee? Quite badly behaved if I remember rightly. Kudos to you Celia if you can beat Roger up a climb carrying an unruly Border Collie under your arm. Or are you using dogs husky-style to pull you around? Perhaps I could borrow one tomorrow if the forecast snow arrives.

Keeping with an animal theme, has anyone else noticed how there are no horses in any of the fields in the Greater Ludchurch area. Always struck me as strange. Anyway, good to see that a local award winning butcher has got those secret recipe French burgers back in stock, my kids love ’em.

[Sweaty Eds]

Great Sporting Lies

As the pressure to succeed in all forms of our sporting lives increases so the temptation to cheat or lie becomes too much for some individuals. I have listed a few of the more famous or, indeed, infamous examples below. In some cases it is obvious what the individuals had to gain, in others it’s a little less clear cut.

So, in no particular order.

The Russian Olympic Modern Pentathlete, Boris Onischenko, (alhough he wasn’t especially honest) who rigged up his fencing sword to register a successful hit at random times during his contests. Result; found out, thrown out and humiliated.

Diego Maradona and the Hand of God. Chubby little Diego somehow convinced the ref that he managed to outjump strapping Peter Shilton and nod the ball into the net for the opening goal of the World Cup semi-final when, as everyone else knew, he’d actually used his hand. Result; quite brilliant second goal, another World Cup win for Argentina, revenge for The Sun’s ‘Gotcha’ headline? No remorse

Ben Johnson winning the 1988 100m Olympic gold with a little help from his Swedish/Serbian friend, Anna Bolic Steroid. Result; found out, thrown out, humiliated.

My mate, Simon Pearson, who, during a school games lesson cross-country run, happened across his Nan in her car. She gave him a lift for two of the five miles and he won the race by about twenty minutes. Result; I think we had the last laugh really because he got himself selected for the school cross-country squad and ended up 72nd and last in the County Sports.

Quite a lot of skullduggery has been unearthed in cycling circles. A few years ago there was that chap who had a condom full of someone else’s urine strapped under his arm that he squeezed out when he was drug tested. There was poor old Marco Pantani and Tom Simpson and now we all wait to see what Lance will say to Oprah, but the biggest cycling lie happened right in our own back yard.

It appears that a cyclist of previous exemplary repute sent a text earlier today saying he couldn’t join us our regular club ride because he had ‘man-flu’. Well everyone on the ride was obviously concerned, in fact one new member was so upset that he could not continue past Bluestone. The conversation for the whole ride revolved around this one topic. One of the GP’s with us insisted we swing past his surgery so he could pick up the very latest antiviral to see if this would help our Beloved Chairman. Well, to cut a long story short, when we rolled through the gates of the Ludchurch Manor House and up to the imposing entrance, we found Lady and Viscount Rees at home but no sign of his Lordship. ‘Out on his bike’ we were told and with that we were given two minutes to get off the estate before she let the dogs out.

Devastated doesn’t really seem a strong enough term to describe the emotions of the assembled throng. Let’s just say that we all knew how that little boy felt, who, after the Chicago White Sox had been accused of throwing the 1919 World Series, shouted to Shoeless Jackson, ‘Say it ain’t so, Joe’. So we say to you, ‘How couldya, Butcher!’.

[Sweaty Eds]

Forgive me Abbot for I have sinned.

It has been two days since my last ride, but when I woke up this morning I thought I could sneak a quick one under the cover of the mist. Unfortunately, I didn’t factor in the weekly tithe collection by Mother Superior and Our Most Reverend Father Rees.

Hear my prayer

Our Strava, which art on the internet,

Dynamos be thy name.

To Narberth we will come,

Cycling will be done, in Turbo,

As it is on Club Runs.

Give us this day our daily ride,

And forgive us our wheel-sucking,

As we forgive them that wheel-suck against us.

And lead us not into Tenby,

But deliver us from the Aces.

For high cadence and le souplesse

keep our legs spinning in circles

for ever and ever

Wiggins

[Sweaty Eds]

Sorry Abott

It must’ve been the glass of Buckfast Abbey wine I had on NYE, it always makes me hyper. I understand that I have done wrong and must make amends. I think the punishment of wearing the hair-shirt for a fortnight and chanting the mantra ‘I am not Sir Brad, I am a very naughty boy’ a thousand times after evensong is reasonable given the seriousness of the crime, but really, please, I beg you, don’t make me record and publish my mileage for the year.

I remain your penitent servant.

[Sweaty Eds]

for those that don’t know the original (well the cleaner version of the original)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OGWhjojt5dw

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