So there I was, up early(ish), kids dressed, bag packed and psyched for an off-road commute on the nicely drying trails through Symondshyde. Blue sky, warm, a beautiful spring morning. OPen the garage, unlock the bike, wave goodbye to the family (they always wave from the window and shout goodbye as I spin off down the road). Get on the bike and the front tyre's flatter then a very flat thing. Feck. Thornholio kicks my arse once more. At least the road bike was ok and I blasted down Hatfield Road fuelled by caffiene and raw pissed off temper because I'd been looking forward to this ride all week. And I got cut up by an aggressive wanker in a BMW who thought it was ok to leave a gap of nearly a whole foot as he passed me before turning left at the roundabout 10 yards ahead. Some days I think Spike Bike has a valid worldview, I tell you.
In a perfect world trails are always dry, horses wear snowshoes and hawthorns are afflicted by a GM virus which makes them bear marshmallows instead of thorns.