A Thorny Tale.

The back lane.


I was given an unwanted bike by a friend the other week, so that I can do my bit for the environment and not go to the allotment in the car.

I’m not sure if this was a kind gesture on his behalf, or a practical joke!

Having not ridden one for years, just getting on the bloody thing nearly put me in hospital. I mean, I used to be able to mount a bike like a professional circus performer, but now it left me convinced I needed a hip replacement, such was the pain.

I waited for a day that was not too windy for my first attempt, after all I didn’t want to burden the local coronary unit unduly, and clocked myself setting off. It takes about 5 minutes in the car and 35 minutes walking, so I wanted to compare times.

The journey there went well and I made good progress, just over 13 minutes from our door to the allotment gate. I must say, these new gear arrangements are terrific, I’m only used to the old three gear Sturmey Archer ones. I actually got all the way up and over the old railway bridge without getting off once, but my legs were going round like a kiddie's windmill in a force ten gale, doing about 20 revolutions for every yard travelled.

My return journey was a bit more problematic unfortunately, starting with the scaring of a couple of walkers half to death, as I careered towards them on the narrow back lane. I made a mental note to adjust the brakes when I got home.

Glancing back, I could see they didn’t look too pleased trying to get themselves out that hawthorn bush. I couldn’t help noticing though, how wonderful the blossom looked on it at this time of year, and was so taken with the scene that I didn’t see the car hurtling towards me.

The back lane, as can be seen in the photo above taken earlier this year, is only one vehicle wide at best with a muddy verge and hedges of mostly hawthorn, along both sides. It’s an enchanting place with a real sense of spirituality and natural beauty about it, but now just wasn’t the time to appreciate such qualities.

By the time I did notice the car, just before the impending impact, I had to make a quick decision, do I play a game of chicken and force him on to the verge or do I get on to it. Soon I could see the whites of his eyes, and the unblinking determined look on his face, so a re-assessment of the situation suggested that it was me who got out of the way.

Risking further orthopaedic surgery I dismounted temporarily until he’d passed, but on resuming my journey noticed a distinct drop in the bike’s performance and the sound of rubber on metal. Looking down, I was horrified to see that the front tyre was as flat as a fart, as we say in Yorkshire!

I don’t know why, but we say it at every opportunity, whether its about the merits of X Factor singers or a badly pulled pint of beer that hasn’t got the obligatory inch of froth on top.

So there I was, punctured on my maiden voyage, and feeling a little deflated in more sense than one. Further investigation confirmed it to be a great big thorn from the hedge that had done the damage, similar to those the walkers had been pulling out of their backs and arms earlier, who by now were strutting passed me with smug smiles. There was nothing else left for it, but to push the damn thing all the way home.

“So, how long did it take you then?” she asked, when I got in the house.

“13 minutes there and 35 back…..” I replied panting, “ I’ll explain later, when I get my breath back”.