You are reading a single comment by @TheorySwine and its replies.
Click here to read the full conversation.
London Fixed Gear and Single-Speed is a community of predominantly fixed gear and single-speed cyclists in and around London, UK.
This site is supported almost exclusively by donations. Please consider donating a small amount regularly.
@TheorySwine
At the risk of bucking the weekend bias, here's a ride I dared have today.
Been away from a bike for about a week so I had a few hours in some Nottinghamshire lanes earlier. I always like to head out to Cropwell Bishop; the observant amongst you will twig I took this photo there. As I was about to arrive I wished I was wearing my forum cap as I’d have stuck it on the sign and included it in the shot as if this were some claimed land of mine, but since I’ve got nothing on Neil Armstrong setting foot on the moon I was glad I hadn’t. The village itself is pongy, rotten and best avoided, much like the cheese which makes it almost famous. Down with Stilton. Viva Parmesan.
I fancied something new so took an unknown turn, a warm sun spurring me on, as was that feeling you get to finally having a bike underneath you again. I rode until I found a spot I liked, which occured in a village called Hickling, I think. Well, it was glorious. A man fishing threw bread into a lake to tempt the fish with the seasoned action of one well used to escaping his wife. He was wrapped up well despite the weather, perhaps brushing up on his disguse from said wife. Who knows his story. I hope his was a good day. Earlier I'd ridden past another pub in a different village which was a contender for my custom, but I felt I could have bettered it somehow. I was glad I continued, as once in Hickling and opposite the man fishing/enjoying his repsite sat this joyous place, patiently waiting for me;
Now, who could resist such a place? Ignorance prevents it, but experience at a cost ensures it. My processed burger belonged back in the tin it no doubt came from, rather than on the naff square plate it was served on; this place puts effort into the crockery rather than the food, as sure a sign of priorities skewed in favour of an unachievable image that exists in the delusion of the landlord, rather than the gut of the punter. It doesn’t matter though as my pint of coke was as memorable as only a well deserved pint of coke often can be, and the barman took a shine to my Lou Reed t-shirt. I will return.
Afterwards I rode aimlessly, but happily. Did about 25 miles all told, as due to being lost I did a loop around Hickling, arriving again at where I'd left the pub following my mediocre lunch like those poor souls in The Blair Witch Project who find they're condemned to retrace their steps. For them there was no escape, but I did arrive back from where I'd begun. It was a really lovely ride, one of those that just takes care of itself, the freedom of two wheels etching themselves upon your weary soul.