The weekends always go too quickly and not least of all when you spend over 2 hours at Peter Jones with a 'Nursery Advisor' who chirpily takes you around the store telling you everything that you are going to need for when the little one decides to grace us with it's (no doubt screaming) presence. I was tossed between logical blokey interest (prams, car seats and BabyBjorns), practicality (cot bed's and storage), tearful cutesiness (little hats, socks and swaddling wraps) to downright toe-curling disgust (breast pumps - arghhhh!). It was all a bit too much and with every new product that was introduced I could not stop myself from saying 'add it to the list' in a semi-pompous nothings-too-good-for-my-child sort of way whilst at the same time having the inner Schleck pleading with me to shut up as he saw any chance of deep section wheels slipping away. It was hellish! At least all this came after a nice early morning jaunt into Kent (I am loving the 39x25 - especially now that I have refitted it without the rattle that plagued the Ride of the Falling Leaves (did I tell you that I was 18th in the GC?!)).
On Sunday came an experience that I probably never thought would have happened - I donned baggies with Dan and headed off into the woods for a bit of mucky fun. Titter ye not, it was the first time that I had been mountain biking 'for real' (ish) and, although only marginally less socially awkward than dogging, I quite enjoyed the romp in the Hertfordshire forests (if you can call the broker belt estates and golf courses of Berkhamsted 'forests'. Whilst Dan hopped and skipped his way over logs and down trails I gamely tried to keep up - in his desperation to convert me to the way of the muddy path he had lent me his best bit of kit, an Orange (make not colour) full suspension frame with Fox forks (about £800 a pair apparently) - scuffing and scraping every bit exposed flesh on trees, nettles and brambles as we went. Luckily the bike, which was surprisingly light for something that looked like a tank, forgave most things under foot and I found myself merrily ploughing over branches (not logs - which I daintily dismounted for unlike bunny-hopping Dan) and spinning up hillsides. Whilst I'm not in a hurry to go out and get myself a new toy and join him on a regular basis and I certainly won't be shopping at Howies but I did enjoy the experience and it did give me a good excuse to write about something other that carbon fibre for a change. Thanks Dan.
Picture - Howies
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