Cycling in a skirt

One life, some bicycles. A million possibilities, zero clue!


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The Crap Bike Christmas Carol

I’m not the only one reflecting on the year at the moment, it seems my bicycles also appear to be taking stock of the last 12 months. This is taking the form of something mechanical now going wrong on pretty much every ride and on every bike. Some things are small, some are more fundamental. I think the bikes are all trying to tell me that a bit of tender, loving care is in order before the New Year. So, as I work my way through the patience of some friendly mechanics and my bank balance, let me bring to you the following (literal) mechanical breakdown shamelessly set to the tune of The Twelve Days of Christmas. *Please allow liberties with wording, meter and bike parts.

The Crap Bike Christmas Carol

On the first day of Christmas my bicycle broke on me, from a chain that was very dirty.

On the second day of Christmas my bicycle broke on me from, 2 buckled wheels and a chain that was very dirty.

On the third day of Christmas my bicycle broke on me from, 3 snapped spokes, 2 buckled wheels and a chain that was very dirty.

On the fourth day of Christmas my bicycle broke on me from, 4 groaning gussets, 3 snapped spokes, 2 buckled wheels and a chain that was very dirty.

On the fifth day of Christmas my bicycle broke on me from 5 worn chain-rings, 4 groaning gussets, 3 snapped spokes, 2 buckled wheels and a chain that was very dirty.

On the sixth day of Christmas my bicycle broke on me from, 6 nipples seizing, 5 old chain-rings, 4 groaning gussets, 3 snapped spokes, 2 buckled wheels and a chain that was very dirty.

On the seventh day of Christmas my bicycle broke on me from, 7 cotters cracking, 6 nipples seizing, 5 old chain-rings, 4 groaning gussets, 3 snapped spokes, 2 buckled wheels and a chain that was very dirty.

On the eighth day of Christmas my bicycle broke on me from, 8 bearings binding, 7 cotters cracking, 6 nipples seizing, 5 old chain-rings, 4 groaning gussets, 3 snapped spokes, 2 buckled wheels and a chain that was very dirty.

On the ninth day of Christmas my bicycle broke on me from, 9 wingnuts warping, 8 bearings binding, 7 cotters cracking, 6 nipples seizing, 5 old chain-rings, 4 groaning gussets, 3 snapped spokes, 2 buckled wheels and a chain that was very dirty.

On the tenth day of Christmas my bicycle broke on me from, 10 gears a grinding, 9 wingnuts warping, 8 bearings binding, 7 cotters cracking, 6 nipples seizing, 5 old chain-rings, 4 groaning gussets, 3 snapped spokes, 2 buckled wheels and a chain that was very dirty.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my bicycle broke on me from, 11 lock-rings locking, 10 gears a grinding, 9 wingnuts warping, 8 bearings binding, 7 cotters cracking, 6 nipples seizing, 5 old chain-rings, 4 groaning gussets, 3 snapped spokes, 2 buckled wheels and a chain that was very dirty.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my bicycle broke on me. So I scrapped it and just bought a new one!

Merry Christmas one and all.

 

 

 

 

 

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The Tale of a One-handed Wannado

If you’re sitting comfortably then I’ll begin.

There was once a girl of indeterminate (but definitely not excessive) years who loved bicycles so much that not a day would go past without some time spent riding her shiny, metallic steeds. Continue reading


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The Secret of Eternal Youth

It is a lesser known but universal rule that, if your birthday falls whilst holidaying in another country, you don’t get any older.

Absolute truth. Continue reading


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Cycling on the surface of the moon

I appear to be cycling on the moon. That or in one of those paintings of Hell by Hieronymus Bosch. Huge volcanic mounds rising from a dead ocean of gnarled, blackened lava rock; a lunar-sea of rubble broken only by thin ribbons of silken tarmac which slide sinuously through the hellish terrain.

First impressions: if this is hell, then it’s got great roads to cycle on. Continue reading


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Night Rider

It’s night-time and I’m pinned face down in the muddy undergrowth, in the middle of a forest, in near total darkness.

The only sounds penetrating the inky atmosphere are my own erratic breathing and the snapping of twigs underfoot as an unknown someone closes in. Continue reading


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The Pleasure Of The Pain – Celebrating Recovery

My body is currently a mass of bruises and gashes, scratches and scrapes. So much so that, on a routine visit to my GP, she delicately enquired whether “everything was all right at home?”

In between stifled laughter, I cheerfully explained to her that the harm was entirely, and happily self-inflicted. And it is. But how life has changed in just one year and how I’m grateful for that pain. Continue reading