There’s nowt like a summer evening ride to de-stress from a hard day’s work. Dusty trails and no bike cleaning are win-wins in our busy lives. But, before we cross over into a SoCal dewy-eyedness of muttering things like ‘awesome, rays, man!’ Let’s remember that this is West Yorkshire!
Tonight, the Bingley end contingent went out and found an equal amount of grit and mud as from a typical autumn ride. Then it started raining, which became torrential, which became scary, scary thunder and lightning. Said thunder and lightening followed us on our route’s arcs and twists. Initially entertaining, this turned into sheer fear when probability caught up with us in a moment that we will no doubt recount to our grandchildren –
Just after passing our bikes from the moor over a metal gate onto tarmac road, we were stood by them, debating the best route back to our homes. We had a very real feel of metal SPD cleat on road, when we saw a brilliant white light hit a telegraph pole no more than 10 feet away, fizzing and popping like the biggest menacing sparkler you’ll ever ever see! What saved us? Probability? Luck, or the fact that we both had a hand each on the rubber grip of our bikes’ handlebars? Who can say?
All thoughts of ‘which is the best route home?’ turned into ‘which is the quickest?’ And, with lightning following our every move, it became the quickest traverse home, yet!
Marcus Farley
Holy shit!