And yea the villagers did not understand the power of the magic of the yellow tights (nor indeed just how randomly vindictive they could be).
A very large crowd assembled at the rugby club this morning. Much hilarity and ribbing was endured by one poor rider who had previously worn distinctive legwear. That over with, we all headed for The Mills but split in to 2 groups, one going directly, the other meandering. I was a meanderer along with a dozen or so others. We were lead at a pleasant pace by Jules and Paul G with constant happy chatter from all. We went out through Whitegate and Beeston, then down quiet lanes via Tattenhall and Chester. A visit to the river was followed by the racecourse and then along the river again to the Mills, all without mishap save for Iain stopping to fettle his gears.
We got to our lunch destination to find, appropriately for this time of the year, there was no room at the inn, it not only being occupied by our short run but also further filled by Port Sunlight, BNECC and many others with a queue going out of the door and talk that it was taking 45 minutes to place your order. The short run had been there a while and were already putting on hats and gloves. Faced with such a long wait and the fact the short runners were leaving, about half of us joined the departing elves, the others staying for mince pies, mulled wine, Carols and hilarious Christmas jokes.
I’ve really had it with my dog: he’ll chase anyone on a bicycle.
It’s got so bad I’m thinking of taking the bike away from him.
At the small island just past Capenhurst the magic yellow tights struck for the first time. Jules, Iain and Rob all got close and personal with the greasy wet road. Tights and overshoes ruined. Sore and bruised bodies to follow.
Back on our way again the group staying together at a reasonable pace and chatting. The inevitable romp through the forest was won by Iain. It was not until the group had splintered to go home and we were going by the Grange School that the magic tights struck again and Eleanor touched the wheel in front, climbing the curb before hitting the deck quite hard. More rips and scratches unfortunately.
Magic Yellow Tights 4, Everyone Else 0.
Those not in the know may think it unusual that a café on a bypass should be an appropriate memento mori but in fact The Eureka Café fits the role perfectly for any cyclist in the Northwest. Everyone goes there, once a cyclist gets ‘serious’ they hear about it and want to visit, it is a rite of passage, a place we all relate to. My own daughter asks me once every so often when she will be able to come to The Mills with me. So it is that this destination is the perfect place for us to go to remember, even for a moment, those friends of ours that have passed. One of the greatest things a person can do in life is to leave an imprint, a memory, an influence, friends wanting more. We remember with affection and love, may it ever be so.