Dive Aid Blog

I'm not happy with Daryl!

Granted, he's a very nice chap, with a lovely wife and a gorgeous little girl (don't you hate losers like that?) Aged only 25 he's a mere snip of a lad and is in full health but he's just managed to do what I've never done in 10 years. He's broken my bike.

This bike and I go way back to my time courting Greek ladies (well, one) whilst lecturing at the University of Nottingham. It brings to mind some of the happiest days of my life - until the cow jilted me!

The trouble started as we were pedalling hard for the top of Dunstable Downs. The wind was against us and the road was very steep indeed. Suddenly I heard worrying noises from Daryl behind me. He started panting, then hawking up gobs of phlegm. Within seconds he was groaning loudly "Aaaah, ooooh!" It got louder and louder until I thought he was going into cardiac arrest - we were only 15 minutes into the training run.

"Euuurrrrgh, aaaaahhhhh!" He continued. It actually sounded like he was making love to my bike. My bike! My pride and joy. The only thing I still have that reminds me of Ioanna Palaiologu.

"Do you need a condom with that?" I shouted back helpfully but Daryl was in no mood to reply, apparently.

"God no! God!" No? I decided to let him carry on for a while and to check he was alive at the top of the hill.

Mercifully he had a pulse, albeit an extremely fast one, and we pedalled gently down the other side. I got into a tuck, enjoying the descent but had to slow down to let "Daryl The Snail" catch up. And why was he velocity-challenged? He'd snapped the gear cable. Sorry, my gear cable. On my bike. The only thing that still reminds me of... well, you get the idea. We carried on. Slowly.

We arrived back at Chateau Venner about 15 minutes later than planned, my spare bike, like its rider, a limping wreck.

We planned to meet again on the 17th. This time Daryl would have his own bike.