Getting my spoke in…

OK.  I know I haven’t posted here for ages.  And if I was in any doubt about just how long it’s been, the whole WordPress interface has changed utterly since I last logged in and I also was hard pressed to remember my password.  It’s been over a year, it seems.  Where did that time go?

Anyway, this post is only by way of refreshing myself as to the workings of WordPress as I feel there could be a longer post in the offing. 

On Sunday coming, October 6, myself and the other half are heading to Newport, Co Mayo where we will cycle part of the Great Western Greenway.  The plan is to cycle from Newport to Westport and back which, if the Greenway map is to be believed, is a round trip of 22km.  Nothing extraordinary about that, you might think.  Well… think again. 

I am not a cyclist.  My bike – affectionately called Grace because I fell from it on Day 1 – is the first bike I ever owned in my life.  She’s just about a month old and I’ve only racked up about 15km in total.  The other half, on the other hand, is experienced.  Very experienced.  In the month of September alone, he racked up over 800km.  Over the course of the year, he’s probably put more mileage on his bike than his car.  He’s everything I’m not when it comes to cycling.  He’s one of these people who looks ‘right’ on a bike.  There’s a certain grace and ease of movement about him that I’ll never achieve.  On the few outings we’ve had together, he’s making it all look entirely effortless and I’m going like a demented, wobbly  hamster.  I have to stop when I meet a car and I certainly have to stop when there’s a car coming behind me.  I only have to hear an engine and I wobble. 

And it’s all a bit sore on the fanny – and I say that no matter what side of the Atlantic you take your definition from.  I went to Halfords today and bought a pair of awful padded shorts in the hopes that they might reduce the mid- and post-cycle discomfort.  The big, mad padded stuff inside is arse-shaped and bright red.  Apt.

So Sunday will be interesting.  If I survive, we’re having dinner, B & B in Newport House that night to mark the occasion of being 34 years hitched.  If we don’t kill each other during the course of the day. 

Stay tuned.