First off: apologies dear reader as I have forsaken my duties over the past month and it has not been due to lack of cycling related activity. A quick synopsis -
Rapha ride - rode it (what a nice chap Dan Craven is)
Herne Hill velodrome - pledged to save it (£50, actually)
Chasing Legends - watched it (preferred Overcoming)
Bicycle Store - discovered it (that's what a city bike store should be)
14 Bike Company - revisited it (oh dear - what went wrong?)
Rapha Softshell - acquired it (don't ask)
PM - crashed it
So you'll see it's been a busy few weeks and the more alert of you will note the last item on the list. Yes, I have to report that I have experienced my first tumble on the urban commute. A right bloody pain in more ways than one as it was a very wet, dark and windy evening on Friday and despite telling myself I was being all 'Flandrian' by deciding to ride home in it I wish I had taken the less wet option of taking the train.
The incident occurred in probably the most famous and poorest lit part in the whole of London town - right outside Buckingham Palace. What is it with these royals? Not only is the Mall and Birdcage walk a pitch black abyss but so too is the little cut through St James Park - Marlborough Road. I can't imagine that Liz, Phil, Chuck and Cam all sit on their DFS La z boys in their respective front rooms thinking 'Bloody Hell, those street lamps are glaring out my plasma' or do they?
Anyway, darkness and rain contributed to the fact that I was side swiped off onto the asphalt with an annoying 'God, I could have swerved that it I had had an extra second' feeling. Driver was honest and contrite, witness was helpful and happy to witness, head, arm, hip and ankle were bloody sore. Of course it's hard to assess the damage in pitch darkness but once I had regained composure and got the driver details I had a quick look - front brake cable had popped out (I popped it back in - rather proud of myself (it's true)), bottle cage was mangled (I bent it back into shape and replaced my crest-fallen bidon and in true Flandrian style I rode home - Johan who?
Next day a quick inspection revealed the PM to be totally unscathed - what a machine. I had not been so luck - road rash, a potholed elbow, cracked helmet (but not head) and sore ankle went to show that I took the bullet for the PM on that rainy night in London town.
However, the story endeth not. After a Saturday spent in the lone company of Futurestar (it get's to a point where he can scream as much as he likes and throw his bloody food all over the place if he won't eat it as far as I'm concerned) I awoke on Sunday with a very sore rib cage. A trip to the bathroom and a near faint confirmed I ought take myself off to A&E for a once over. As I waited (and waited, and waited) to be seen I was approached by a friendly young chap who had a look of 'Hello, mate' on his face that was so convincing I found myself scrambling the memory for who, where, when and why. It turned out that I didn't know him from Adam but he was working for a production company making a documentary about the hospital (sorry, forgot to say that it was Kings, Camberwell - birthplace of Futurestar (no blue plaque I noticed)) for Channel 4 - would I ming being filmed and wearing a radio mic. I played it cool ('What, me? On telly? Me? Telly? On it?, Me? etc, etc) and strapped the mic on quicker than a Colombian supergrass. After waiting and waiting some more (had the telly people told the doctors to make me wait until I erupted in a rage thus giving them something more juicy to film? I held my nerve, reader) I went into the booth and was stretched prodded and manipulated to check all was in tact and indeed it was so panic over. As a precaution the nurse (male - nice chap - probably on his best behaviour for the telly) took my pulse and blood pressure. Here is the best bit - when taking my pulse he actually said 'Wow', yes, 'Wow' followed by 'I wish I had a heart rate like that'. At that moment I could not help but smile at the camera - what an athlete I thought to myself and now the whole watching world will know it too (watch out for the programme - it airs in the spring apparently).
As if to top it off he then proceeded to dress my elbow wound with proper dressing and one of those fishnetty bandage things just like the pro's wear (as I pointed out to him), no doubt my childish glee at said dressing will also be caught on camera for all to see (and mock).
So, I have been a busy boy, haven't I?
