M
Mikefule
Guest
Well, after yesterday's disastrous ride... back into the office, and
another day fighting the combined forces of evil and stupidity. My last
customer of the day comes through as a "complaint" because one of my
laziest colleagues can't be bothered to talk to him, and I rapidly
detect that his claim is not as simple as he would have me believe. He
finishes the conversation somewhat abruptly, after accusing me of having
carnal relations with both my hand and my mother.
So a good vigorous unicycle ride is in order. And am I going to let the
Coker sit there in the corner and become An Issue, or am I going to give
it another go?
I start at my usual place near the skateboard ramps. I mount first
time, and set off. I hear a kid shout, "Hey, look at that man over
there, look, he's on a unicycle!" It's not intended for me to hear
(he's made the common assumption that unicyclists are all deaf) and it's
an honest expression of surprise and excitement. Fair enough.
I swerve onto the narrow footpath that leads across the field. This
path is tricky on the 700c, but the Coker soaks it up at a smooth and
steady pace. Then I'm on the grit path beside the river, and cruising
along.
Something feels wrong: maybe the seat's a bit too low. It feels as if
it's tilted forwards, too. I've been used to the Miyata all summer, and
the Viscount feels all wrong. I decide to keep going, and soon I make
the tight turn into the footpath next to the sailing club. Bump bump
over the two concrete strips, crunch across the ballast, swoop up the
little tiny hill that used to be so huge, and I soon pop out onto the
road.
Then it's a short ride towards the Water Sports Centre, passing one
silent jogger on the way. As I'm about ready to move over to the right
(US readers: we ride on the left over here) I hear a clackity clackity
thrum noise behind me. Something strange approaches. I make an
assertive right hand signal, occupy the centre of the road, then turn
onto the footpath near to the lake. The vehicle clackity thrums past -
it turns out to be a vintage air cooled V-Dub camper van. Lovely!
It's an easy ride up the zig zag ballast path, across the rough area of
deep ballast, then across the tarmac. The 700c treats all these
sections with caution, but the Coker hardly notices them! Then I surge
up the mown grassy track opposite, and duck under the low tree branches
to turn right towards the top of "scoreboard hill" where I once learned
to grass ski. (Grass skiing did not appeal to me at all, but my brother
and sister both got into it and were in the GB team for a year or
two.)
The very last bit onto the top of the hill is a struggle, and as I pull
hard on the front of the seat, my foot slips slightly on the pedal.
Then I'm faced with a tricky descent - tricky because there's a narrow
ballast path across the bottom, and the change of surface and the very
slight drop could be enough to trip me if I'm overconfident. I
plodwaddle down the hill, unable to adjust the position of my foot
without falling off, and unable to control the speed and direction of
the uni properly without adjusting my foot.
(Conclusion: the best way to ride down the hill under control is to fall
off. Er...)
From here, I swoop up onto the mown grass "landscaping", ride under the
arrows sculpture, and then along the skyline. This is all familiar, and
presents no difficulties except that I'm a bit out of practice. I make
the short drop down to the path by the canoe slalom course, then climb
up the tricky gravel path to the top of the hill overlooking the course.
All of these hills are small - only a few metres of elevation - but
once a hill is big enough for you to lose your initial momentum, it's
the trickiness of the surface that matters, at least until you're too
tired to continue.
At the top of the hill, I dismount and look at the seat. It's properly
tilted on the seatpost, but I decide to raise it half an inch or so. I
remount, and take the steepish descnet with care. Spinning out is not
an option as at the bottom of the slope is the lake! I ride past a
courting couple, surprising them mid snog, then up the next grassy
slope, over the top, and down. Next comes a short bit of embankment,
and as I approach it, a middle aged bloke on a mountainbike swoops up
onto the top of the embankment. As I pass him in the opposite
direction, atop but a single gargantuan wheel, he looks amusedly
crestfallen.
After the embankment, the fisherman's track alongside the river. Here
the Coker is in its element, swooping along the trail ignoring the
smaller bumps that would stop the 700c, and making more speed than a
plodding MUni. Soon, I find the cut through to the parallel path. The
cut through is grown over and would be a struggle on any of my other
wheels. I make it fairly easily, then turn up the steepish grassy hill,
surprising four wild rabbits which scatter in alarm.
There's a nadgery bit between some trees next, but the wheel seems to
remember the way. Then I burst out onto rough open ground and quickly
make the short distance to the tarmac lakeside track. Here I pass a
single bicyclist. Then I go down the ramp, across the grass, and across
the little wooden slatted bridge. It's not difficult, but it's there
and it has to be done.
So, how good am I feeling? Ahead of me is the most difficult hill on my
old Coker route. It's not steep, but it's rough grass, and long enough
for balance fatigue to set in. It was at the foot of this hill that I
fell and chipped a bone in my hand a couple of years ago. I haven't
tried this section for months, but I decide to go for it, and make it
most of the way up the hill easily. The last bit is a struggle and
involves a bit of arm waving, but I stay on, and soon I am on top of the
grassy hill overlooking the waterski lake. The descent rquires care,
but I'm soon down, and carefully ridng past the ski lodge, clacking my
wristguards together as a warning of my presence.
The next obstacle...
I don't do skinnies. This obstacle is the nearest thing to a skinny
I've ever ridden. It's a railway sleeper used as a narrow footbridge
over a steep sided ditch. Riding for a metre or so across a bridge as
wide as a railway sleeper should be easy enough, but I'm always a bit
nervous. From the seat of a Coker, the sleeper looks a long way down,
and I really don't want to imagine what would happen if the tyre slipped
off the side of the bridge, and the crank or pedal caught the edge of
the bridge, and I was pitched sideways, my head falling a total of about
10 feet into the wet and stony bed of the bridge, my arm taking the
brunt of the fall, the shoulder dislocating, and me lying helplessly
paralysed, stunned by the impact and unable to attract attention as the
rising water from a sudden unseasonal storm sent its icy fingers down
into my choking lungs.
So, in this positive frame of mind, I approach the bridge a little too
cautiously, hit a bump in the grass (prob'ly an earthworm or something)
and I do a flying dismount. I clear the ditch, but the uni doesn't!
I retrieve the Coker, remount and make a second approach. Again, the
bump, the rude word, the clump of feet on grass, the gasp of relief and
the grinding of metal against timber.
Closer inspection reveals a cunningly placed wheeltrap - the surface of
the grass is level, but the roots of the grass are down a cheeky little
hole, a few inches before the start of the bridge. Armed with this
knowledge, I try again, and make the crossing, celebrating with my
trademark Tim Henman clench of the fist and a subvocalised "Yess!"
By this time, it is starting to get a little dusky. I find myself
cruising at a gentle pace along the tarmac next to the lake. Algae is
rotting along the water's edge and the familar riverside smell is
relaxing. (That should be algae are rotting, but that sounds wrong.) I
spent much of my childhood cycling and walking by the river or the
lakes, or canoeing, or just swimming, and I still love those familiar
smells.
Cruising on the Coker, I guess I'm doing 10 mph (16 kmh) and a lazy
seagull keeps pace with me for a while, flying slightly lower than my
head height. The centre of the lake is filling with ducks and geese
which congregate there away from any predators there might be on the
bank.
I make good speed round to the canoe slalom course, diverting briefly
beside the main lake to ride down onto one of the mooring pontoons,
along its length and back up the ramp onto the shore. At the slalom
course, I ride along the tops of the mown grass landscaping. I hear one
or two "Look at that"s from the canoeists, but no comments directed at
me until I hear the dreaded "Dit dit diddle iddle dit dit da da..." I
respond with a casual bidigital salute and continue on my way.
--
Mikefule - Roland Hope School of Unicycling
So, do you ride with a club?
No, but I carry a heavy spanner.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mikefule's Profile: http://www.unicyclist.com/profile/879
View this thread: http://www.unicyclist.com/thread/43406
another day fighting the combined forces of evil and stupidity. My last
customer of the day comes through as a "complaint" because one of my
laziest colleagues can't be bothered to talk to him, and I rapidly
detect that his claim is not as simple as he would have me believe. He
finishes the conversation somewhat abruptly, after accusing me of having
carnal relations with both my hand and my mother.
So a good vigorous unicycle ride is in order. And am I going to let the
Coker sit there in the corner and become An Issue, or am I going to give
it another go?
I start at my usual place near the skateboard ramps. I mount first
time, and set off. I hear a kid shout, "Hey, look at that man over
there, look, he's on a unicycle!" It's not intended for me to hear
(he's made the common assumption that unicyclists are all deaf) and it's
an honest expression of surprise and excitement. Fair enough.
I swerve onto the narrow footpath that leads across the field. This
path is tricky on the 700c, but the Coker soaks it up at a smooth and
steady pace. Then I'm on the grit path beside the river, and cruising
along.
Something feels wrong: maybe the seat's a bit too low. It feels as if
it's tilted forwards, too. I've been used to the Miyata all summer, and
the Viscount feels all wrong. I decide to keep going, and soon I make
the tight turn into the footpath next to the sailing club. Bump bump
over the two concrete strips, crunch across the ballast, swoop up the
little tiny hill that used to be so huge, and I soon pop out onto the
road.
Then it's a short ride towards the Water Sports Centre, passing one
silent jogger on the way. As I'm about ready to move over to the right
(US readers: we ride on the left over here) I hear a clackity clackity
thrum noise behind me. Something strange approaches. I make an
assertive right hand signal, occupy the centre of the road, then turn
onto the footpath near to the lake. The vehicle clackity thrums past -
it turns out to be a vintage air cooled V-Dub camper van. Lovely!
It's an easy ride up the zig zag ballast path, across the rough area of
deep ballast, then across the tarmac. The 700c treats all these
sections with caution, but the Coker hardly notices them! Then I surge
up the mown grassy track opposite, and duck under the low tree branches
to turn right towards the top of "scoreboard hill" where I once learned
to grass ski. (Grass skiing did not appeal to me at all, but my brother
and sister both got into it and were in the GB team for a year or
two.)
The very last bit onto the top of the hill is a struggle, and as I pull
hard on the front of the seat, my foot slips slightly on the pedal.
Then I'm faced with a tricky descent - tricky because there's a narrow
ballast path across the bottom, and the change of surface and the very
slight drop could be enough to trip me if I'm overconfident. I
plodwaddle down the hill, unable to adjust the position of my foot
without falling off, and unable to control the speed and direction of
the uni properly without adjusting my foot.
(Conclusion: the best way to ride down the hill under control is to fall
off. Er...)
From here, I swoop up onto the mown grass "landscaping", ride under the
arrows sculpture, and then along the skyline. This is all familiar, and
presents no difficulties except that I'm a bit out of practice. I make
the short drop down to the path by the canoe slalom course, then climb
up the tricky gravel path to the top of the hill overlooking the course.
All of these hills are small - only a few metres of elevation - but
once a hill is big enough for you to lose your initial momentum, it's
the trickiness of the surface that matters, at least until you're too
tired to continue.
At the top of the hill, I dismount and look at the seat. It's properly
tilted on the seatpost, but I decide to raise it half an inch or so. I
remount, and take the steepish descnet with care. Spinning out is not
an option as at the bottom of the slope is the lake! I ride past a
courting couple, surprising them mid snog, then up the next grassy
slope, over the top, and down. Next comes a short bit of embankment,
and as I approach it, a middle aged bloke on a mountainbike swoops up
onto the top of the embankment. As I pass him in the opposite
direction, atop but a single gargantuan wheel, he looks amusedly
crestfallen.
After the embankment, the fisherman's track alongside the river. Here
the Coker is in its element, swooping along the trail ignoring the
smaller bumps that would stop the 700c, and making more speed than a
plodding MUni. Soon, I find the cut through to the parallel path. The
cut through is grown over and would be a struggle on any of my other
wheels. I make it fairly easily, then turn up the steepish grassy hill,
surprising four wild rabbits which scatter in alarm.
There's a nadgery bit between some trees next, but the wheel seems to
remember the way. Then I burst out onto rough open ground and quickly
make the short distance to the tarmac lakeside track. Here I pass a
single bicyclist. Then I go down the ramp, across the grass, and across
the little wooden slatted bridge. It's not difficult, but it's there
and it has to be done.
So, how good am I feeling? Ahead of me is the most difficult hill on my
old Coker route. It's not steep, but it's rough grass, and long enough
for balance fatigue to set in. It was at the foot of this hill that I
fell and chipped a bone in my hand a couple of years ago. I haven't
tried this section for months, but I decide to go for it, and make it
most of the way up the hill easily. The last bit is a struggle and
involves a bit of arm waving, but I stay on, and soon I am on top of the
grassy hill overlooking the waterski lake. The descent rquires care,
but I'm soon down, and carefully ridng past the ski lodge, clacking my
wristguards together as a warning of my presence.
The next obstacle...
I don't do skinnies. This obstacle is the nearest thing to a skinny
I've ever ridden. It's a railway sleeper used as a narrow footbridge
over a steep sided ditch. Riding for a metre or so across a bridge as
wide as a railway sleeper should be easy enough, but I'm always a bit
nervous. From the seat of a Coker, the sleeper looks a long way down,
and I really don't want to imagine what would happen if the tyre slipped
off the side of the bridge, and the crank or pedal caught the edge of
the bridge, and I was pitched sideways, my head falling a total of about
10 feet into the wet and stony bed of the bridge, my arm taking the
brunt of the fall, the shoulder dislocating, and me lying helplessly
paralysed, stunned by the impact and unable to attract attention as the
rising water from a sudden unseasonal storm sent its icy fingers down
into my choking lungs.
So, in this positive frame of mind, I approach the bridge a little too
cautiously, hit a bump in the grass (prob'ly an earthworm or something)
and I do a flying dismount. I clear the ditch, but the uni doesn't!
I retrieve the Coker, remount and make a second approach. Again, the
bump, the rude word, the clump of feet on grass, the gasp of relief and
the grinding of metal against timber.
Closer inspection reveals a cunningly placed wheeltrap - the surface of
the grass is level, but the roots of the grass are down a cheeky little
hole, a few inches before the start of the bridge. Armed with this
knowledge, I try again, and make the crossing, celebrating with my
trademark Tim Henman clench of the fist and a subvocalised "Yess!"
By this time, it is starting to get a little dusky. I find myself
cruising at a gentle pace along the tarmac next to the lake. Algae is
rotting along the water's edge and the familar riverside smell is
relaxing. (That should be algae are rotting, but that sounds wrong.) I
spent much of my childhood cycling and walking by the river or the
lakes, or canoeing, or just swimming, and I still love those familiar
smells.
Cruising on the Coker, I guess I'm doing 10 mph (16 kmh) and a lazy
seagull keeps pace with me for a while, flying slightly lower than my
head height. The centre of the lake is filling with ducks and geese
which congregate there away from any predators there might be on the
bank.
I make good speed round to the canoe slalom course, diverting briefly
beside the main lake to ride down onto one of the mooring pontoons,
along its length and back up the ramp onto the shore. At the slalom
course, I ride along the tops of the mown grass landscaping. I hear one
or two "Look at that"s from the canoeists, but no comments directed at
me until I hear the dreaded "Dit dit diddle iddle dit dit da da..." I
respond with a casual bidigital salute and continue on my way.
--
Mikefule - Roland Hope School of Unicycling
So, do you ride with a club?
No, but I carry a heavy spanner.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mikefule's Profile: http://www.unicyclist.com/profile/879
View this thread: http://www.unicyclist.com/thread/43406
