My goodness, November’s been a terrible month for my cycling. I’ve ridden so infrequently, in part because of a cold that won’t quit, and it really sucks. I can’t believe I’m doing so few miles. I suppose it was to be expected, given that with winter approaching there was always going to come a point where I started to ride a bit less, but the size and the suddenness of the drop-off has surprised me.
Friday night took the biscuit. I got back to Stafford and found the place too wet to ride Major Tom, and Crichton had a flat. Again. The rear. Again. So I couldn’t ride round to my fiancée’s, as I couldn’t be sure it’d hold pressure, but after testing it overnight it turns out I could have ridden it after all. I drove over instead, and I can’t remember the last time I was so grumpy about a short drive. The tyre’s replaced now, but I can do without the lost time.