…..I’m happy again!

And it’s true, I feel a whole lot better for braving it and cycling in the rain. Of course it wasn’t raining when we set out, but it looked as if it was going to rain this morning so we dressed prepared. I’m afraid I didn’t look very pretty in my rainy day outfit… I hardly know where to start describing it, perhaps from the bottom up? I wore my favourite old gladiator sandals (with the silver studs around the ankles – quite slimming actually) and my all-time favourite black and white polka dot shorts (so far so good, although my legs are not as tanned as they were); the peach top was a bit old yet okay for cycling in; no, it was definitely the bright pink waterproof jacket (supposedly) with hood that was weird – weird worn over polka dot shorts, anyway! The pink sunglasses didn’t look the best either…I was going to include a photo in my blog but I’ve changed my mind – don’t want to draw attention as I’m rather hoping that nobody will have recognised me in my Little Pink Riding-Hood disguise.

Naturally, it rained, and the North Wind did blow – right up my polka dot shorts – and I had to hang onto my hood as we fought our way forwards into the wind.

“It will be agin us all the way,” Chris said like a soothsayer.

“What? Even coming back too?” I always tend to query Chris (soothsayer that he is).

“Yep, I reckon so. That there wind keeps changing direction,” he said in his old cowboy accent (that he hasn’t been able to shake off for some days, seeing as how it amuses me so much).

Before we reached the cycle track at Dawlish Warren we had a lovely surprise; Harvey, the 85 year old (or more) cycle-aholic from Exeter (whom we haven’t seen for some time, and we suspected might have been ill…or worse…) came riding along in his weatherproof latex professional standard garb. We were thrilled to see that he was still alive and well, if even thinner than when we last saw him. Cycling really does keep you trim – just not me because I’m obviously not cycling enough.

Another old-timer called Fred once told us that his mate Harvey cycled at least 300 miles per week  “and he’s a married man!” He hadn’t met his wife but “that could explain it”, he laughed. Harvey has never stopped to speak to us, nor have we ever seen him rest – he is always on a mission. Nevertheless, we had it on good authority, from Fred, that Harvey’s secret to longevity, based on his ability to cycle 300 miles plus per week, is the gel pads that are built into the bottom of his cycle-shorts in order “to stop the callouses on his bottom from getting any worse!” Goodness! You have to wonder if it is ever worth it.

I was still marvelling over the fact that Harvey was still alive, which led onto pondering about the famed callouses on his bottom (and wondering, yet again, whether or not it was worth it), when the skinny old chap whizzed by us in a masterful show of speed and strength (especially considering the size of him), for he had reached his destination already – Dawlish Warren carpark – and come back again in about a minute. Harvey continued to follow the road rather than the cycle path (cycle tracks are for kids and amateurs!) while we were grateful to get off the road, even though we have to share our purpose-built cycle track with deaf pedestrians and sometimes stroppy dog-walkers.

I suspect that Harvey was home in Exeter (eleven miles away) forty minutes later, when we carried our bikes down our steps after a 6 mile round trip. I guess I’ll never get as thin as Harvey… not that I would ever want to be as thin as Harvey, and he’ll never have a nice, naturally padded, bottom like mine… How callous of me to say so! No hard feelings about being the butt of the joke… I hope. Just for that I shall show penitence by letting you see a ghastly photo of Little Pink Riding-Hood! It’s not me…