Day 3 of a week of random 'cross bike riding shenanigans with friends and Ride 2, a day late after it was hastily cancelled when someone had grumblysquirty issues that threatened certain chamoimplosion over very few miles, a handful of speed bumps and one panicked toilet stop. Planned pedalling was therefore ditched in favour of a tour of the many and varied cultural and caffeinated emporia in the city, all within easy reach of public conveniences.
Anyway, Ride 2- (fanfare) - The Ride Of Pork. A bike ride taking in a few places that could offer pig-based sustenance, a flimsy rind with which to thread a ride together but as good a reason as any; start the day with a bacon sandwich, a mid-ride pause for an eponymous pie and reward efforts with a steaming plate of sausage-heavy supperage.
The dreich of the previous ride has been replaced by beautiful horizon wide sunshine and we strike out along the coast towards the Beach Cafe and a well-researched bacon sarnie. Legs and bowels are feeling chipper after yesterdays enforced rest and the ride trotters along merrily with an unexpected ididn'trealiseitwasthatfar 45 miles covered by close of play.
An old man shouted at us for being on a private path whilst waving his bag of dog shit in our direction, the bacon sarnie and coffee was described as "good", we mended a minor mechanical with a mini-tool screwdriver and a rock, we had a puncture, we basked in the unseasonable warmth, we rode trails on inappropriate bikes again, we rode inappropriate trails quietly and naughtily, we played gaily on a swing, we had unexpected soup, we survived Scary Woods but got scared by green chalk, we had a mighty fine and hefty pork pie each, with lovely pickle, we minced, and we timed the top of the last climb with the last of the energy to perfection.
That's more than enough to fit into one ride.
Then we ate more pork, this time with added pasta and sauce, and didn't feel like we'd made pigs of ourselves.
It was such a success that the The Ride Of Pork was proposed and then emphatically seconded to become an annual event.
Pork the one you love.
Jo Burt has spent the majority of his life riding bikes, drawing bikes and writing about bikes. When he’s not scribbling pictures for the whole gamut of cycling media he writes words about them for road.cc and when he’s not doing either of those he’s pedaling. Then in whatever spare minutes there are in between he’s agonizing over getting his socks, cycling cap and bar-tape to coordinate just so. And is quietly disappointed that yours doesn’t. He rides and races road bikes a bit, cyclo-cross bikes a lot and mountainbikes a fair bit too. Would rather be up a mountain.