Forgetful

A mile down the road and something feels not quite right. Pat head, there's a cap there but I've forgotten my helmet. Ah. Dolt. Turn round back home and put helmet on.

Start again.

25 miles later reach round to back pocket for a munchie bar. Ah. Dolt. I've forgotten to pack some munchie bars, and no spare inner-tubes either. Double ah.

That's never happened before, obviously my mind wasn't totally focused on going for a bike ride, and to be fair I had to kick myself out the door on this particularly grey and uninspiring day. It didn't get any better less than 10 miles in as the cloud came down on the hill with attendant dampness and visibility went 20:20 to myopic, thoughts pondered a discretionary heading for home if it didn't improve over the top, at least I got out on the bike, right?

But things cleared up (damn) and now I'm stood at a junction fumbling in empty rear-pockets.

If i go my intended route I can pick up something to eat in that petrol station there and I could just head the quick way home to minimise potential puncture time, but that would be sissy. Let's play with the fates.

Press on.
Ham and salad sarnie bought ("Is it raining, this tenner's a bit wet?" "Um, sorry"), god, it tastes good.

Carry on into a headwind and perma-drizzle, lovely. Some day in the future this miserable ride will prove worthwhile.

The roads are wet and there's plenty of wash-off from gutters and fields, perfect puncture hunting grounds. Pleasenopunctures, pleasenopunctures, pleasenopunctures, pleasenopunctures, pleasenopunctures, pleasenopunctures, pleasenopunctures, pleasenopunctures, pleasenopunctures, pleasenopunctures, for at least the last hour.

A ride I'll be glad to forget.