I’m not giving this my full attention…
My apologies. You may have noticed the scant posts in the last fortnight since I did my century ride. This is not, as you may charitably imagine, a result of me still being in bed recovering, more due to the fact that I have been ultra busy with work and various other things, and this blog tends to suffer in this case. Don’t worry; content will soon surge forth again, but for now, something of a lean period is in existence. (This is beginning to sound rather worryingly like a missive posted by Stephen Fry before he jetted off to LA to write his book; not that my meagre output could in any way be compared to the utterings of the great Fry).
I’ve ridden a couple of times (which means three in fact) since the long ride, the latest being yesterday when, at 2.30pm I set off in the vain hope that the sun’s heat would be less shattering at that time of the day. I managed 40 glorious miles and lost about five pints in sweat! The glories of a ride in summery weather were suddenly brought flooding back to me, but that’s not what this post concerns itself with.
No, this is a holding message until such time as I have the time to start posting again. I have been following a (still unfolding) blog in the last few days, that of a guy from Australia who is currently riding from Rome to the UK in time to go to Glastonbury. And I want to share it with you.
This story, as it unfolds like a roll of slightly threadbare carpet in front of my eyes, concerns a guy whose name I haven’t yet worked out, who is riding a Surly Long Haul Trucker in a slightly wayward route through the depths of Italy and France. He admits to having done very little planning; that in itself is foolish but admirable.
He blogs on various platforms (I found out about him on WordPress, after posting blogs on various sites, he had settled on WordPress until giving up and moving on a few days later…).
He seems to be enjoying himself in a way that most po-faced long distance cyclists fail miserably to do (frequent reports concern stopping after a long day in the saddle, meeting somebody interesting and then getting seriously drunk).
I will keep following the Aussie’s blog until he gets to Glastonbury, and am secretly looking forward to the day when he finds some seedy bar in an obscure French town and, prompted by an ageing local in a crumpled beret, starts on the Pernod……