THE GOOD BUCK

I’ve been eating humble pie for breakfast, dinner and tea since I started training.

I used to scorn low gear wobblers, put it in top gear and pedal you lazy bastards!

When I started training for my first Outlaw, on my first day, I did a 51 mile ride and a 13 mile run. A lifetime of bans and motorbike write-offs meant I had cycled everywhere for years.I thought that level of fitness was normal. So people who were making hard work of it needed to pull their finger out and do a bit.

What was I thinking? After the painfest of the first Outlaw tri I said I was never doing another.

After the near death experience of baking my arse off at my second Outlaw tri I said I wasn’t doing another and meant it.

I was resigned to selling my bikes after the police bust. I can’t say I was happy about it, but I was getting my head around cycling and maybe triathlon again.

The copper said there was a chance I could do an awareness course, but Mr Google said I couldn’t. I was expecting big points. Even at the bare minimum of 3, I was still thinking I should probably sell my bikes to be on the safe side.

I got my letter off the coppers today.

Well, it was all going so well.

It was a relatively warm and dry day, the first for a few weeks. Good riding weather in other words. So I opened it up a bit. I still haven’t got my plod detector working. Can you see where this going?

Busted.

How often do you get presented with a serious problem and have the means to quickly and simply fix it?

Never.

It just doesn’t happen in my experience. It’s always a process. A series of token gestures. Often as not a well intentioned disaster.