Wednesday Afternoon Action

So by 14:30 I'd set up the kids' Christmas Wii, eaten pasta, dealt with post-video-game trauma and sallied forth. At the first crossroads, my 118psi tyres had thrown my front light onto the road. Truth be told, it was mismatched with its holder. We have loads of those things. It would have been fine, but the first car past ran over it so I had to go home to find another one.

All this time the strava was running, so don't take my average speed as representative, mmmkay? I got out around 3, and headed for the coast. I visited Jesmond Dene Banqueting Hall:


 Tynemouth Priory:


Seaton Delaval Hall:


I then proceeded to Gosforth Great Park. That's a new development of plush houses on green belt land. A cul-de-sac, plonked right where the road to Stannington and the airport used to be. Yes, all this were fields when I were a lad.

By the time I got to Throckley it was pitch dark with driving rain.



I'd bought batteries and borrowed a screwdriver just before leaving the coast and the recommended Panasonics lasted all of 2hrs. So oncoming traffic beeped me, while cars behind gave me a wide and safe berth thanks to a great strobing back light plus my reflective rapha softshell mudflap *nudge*.

The best bit was the route down to Wylam. Snaking downhill. Fast. I couldn't see a thing. Massive puddles. Just phenomenal. I must say after lots of short trips by MTB my Raleigh feels like flying. What a thrill. It's patently not a winter bike and it's never even got damp before while I've had it, but this is the sort of use I feel it craves. She craves. Now I'm just being silly.

The excitement wore off on the hill up to Prudhoe. I hit the wall. "I've hit the wall!", I shouted, but nobody heard me. I made it up to the rhythm of Manu Katche's drums on Bowie's 'China Girl'. That's right, slow. I'll give you a man who wants to rule the world...There's a tricky note to hit. Anyway, just how does a sacred crown stumble into town? All this and more I had plenty of time to ponder.

The rest of the ride was a trial. I made it to Corbridge only to run into my first love plus her husband who'd just failed to hit me when overtaking on the approach to the village. They looked as if they were being accosted by a wild-eyed, half-crazed loon in a helmet. And they were.

This was to be a meeting of friends from, ooh, 25 years ago. From Norway, Stocksfield, London, Singapore and Sydney they came. My wife didn't come for another half an hour, leaving me standing by my unlockable bike in the freezing rain, hopping from foot to foot while Strava couldn't find enough signal to record my magnum opus.



My darling had brought me a change of clothes and the requested Bowie CD. But she hadn't brought shoes. So after a quick change in the car I squelched off to the pub. Looking dapper, but shivering uncontrollably.

What a day. What a night. 55.4 miles and it's not enough to catch up. Tomorrow I head North. Wish me luck.

She says, Shhhhhhhhhhhh...