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Forest Row Bike Club

 

 

Ride Report

 

Uphill/Downhill Challenge - 25th.November, 2007.

Right then you lot, listen up. I've been absent from these pages for a while now, and I feel the time is right. Maybe not for you, but for me. Right for me to break another record.

You may recall if you read these pages that I once before broke new ground by writing the ride report before the ride had even finished, due to the fact that I couldn't go on it, and limped home to write about it before the other lucky souls had even got home. Well, this time I'm going one better by writing it before the event to which it applies has even happened.

I refer of course to tomorrow's hill climb. Now, only two people know of the location of said event, and I'm not one of them. No matter, here is what will happen, mark my words.

It will either be raining, or it won't be. I will, though, turn up, come hell or high water. Ron, the cunning chap, will turn up too, and direct whoever else is there to some fiendishly difficult climb, which none of the contenders will have been able to practise on. Fair enough.

I will be there, though, on my rather heavy mountain bike, putting me at an instant disadvantage. I figure, though, that it would be unfair to turn up on my super new featherlight steed when I've never yet used it on any of our club runs. Others may see fit to use the ultra-light bikes that they normally use to gain a weekly advantage, but not me.

I shall arrive with legs still heavy from a ride today, which encompassed Leith Hill, Box Hill and Ranmore Hill. (Note the repeated use of the word 'Hill'). I shall probably still be suffering from the fairly severe cold (man's flu) from which I have been suffering since Tuesday. I shall line up for my allotted turn, and furiously ascend whichever mountainous climb Ron has selected for us all. And quite easily, I shall arrive at the summit in the shortest number of seconds. Simple. I don't care if the redoubtable Graham is as fit as a fiddle and as strong as an ox. Or if his whippet-like son is getting stronger every day and keen as mustard to show us all up. Or if all the other members are on any number of concoctions of drugs.

I shall rely on the mettle of a true Brit. I shall conquer all. In short, the trophy is as good as mine already.

However, on the other hand, if by some unfair skullduggery Ron should decide that a) his watch failed to work properly, or b) I haven't yet paid my club subs and he's going to take his revenge, or c) some other bounder has bribed him more than I have, don't forget that I had a really heavy bike, I am still tired from yesterday's ride, I have a really heavy cold, etc., etc., etc.

PS. It is some weeks now since I wrote the above, and by now everyone will know the outcome. It is with some difficulty that I have to admit that I was beaten. Hard for you all to believe, I know, but that is the truth. On the day in question, I was as confident as could be, but it has to be acknowledged that better men than me triumphed. Oh yes, it has to be said that having tried my best, I waited at the top of the hill, and I witnessed first Graham cross the line like a man possessed, and a bit later Steve, carrying two saddlebags, and then young Andrew going like the clappers. (What exactly are clappers?). It is obviously time to admit that I am no longer the man I thought I was. (Everyone else knew that already). So I congratulate all the participants, and I congratulate through gritted teeth those who came in front of me.

John.

 

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