I love getting out on my bike. When the weekend finally rolls round I’m always excited to go for a ride. What’s not so good is the fact that there’s no big trails kicking about locally. Sure, there’s the old quarry down the road that’s got a little wooded section – that’s good for a laugh – and there’s the bridleways and old railway lines. But there’s nothing to sink your teeth into. Not without an hours drive anyway.
A couple of weeks back, I took a trip to Grenoside. It was great and I got to test my new Bronson out (it rips!), but my usual riding buddy took a spill and injured his shoulder. That’s meant I’ve been solo for the last couple of weekends.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid of riding on my own, and sometimes I quite enjoy it. But sessioning something on your own is a little on the dry side. And I miss the banter.
When it’s wet and cold, I sometimes find it hard to motivate myself to get out and ride alone too. When I looked out the window on Saturday morning I knew it was going to be one of those days. A journey to a trail centre was out of the question – sleepy and fearing the inevitable stinging fingers from the cold didn’t seem like it was worth an hours drive. Especially not on my own. Instead I spent the morning in bed with a coffee and sausage sandwich. Eventually, I rose and got on with the day, deciding not to ride.
Sunday’s weather was a little better but I decided to spend the day with family rather than ride. I’m not grumpy that I did this, but now it’s Tuesday I definitely feel like I should’ve ridden. By the time Sunday night came round I knew I’d made a mistake. I felt as though I’d wasted a great opportunity for what could’ve been a really good ride. And now that it’s Tuesday, and I haven’t ridden, the weekend feels so long ago.
I’ve learnt my lesson. The next time it’s raining, or a bit cold, I’ll be getting up and putting on the thermals so I can still enjoy my bike. Rainy days should still be fun.