Big plate was born the exact same moment Walter Godefroot crossed the line to win the tour of Flanders in 1968. He was born early and swiftly, which was to characterise much of his life. BigPlate was christened the very next day as the doctors had never...
This past week you may have noticed a strange creature lumbering along the side of the road at the speed of a push mower. The bit of the road where you normally are. A life form, with a bit more red faced than the conventional occupant...
The Emphasis applied to a statement is everything; it is a direct view to the inner most feelings of the owner. “You’re riding the Ras?” Simple question “YOU’RE riding the Ras!” – Un nerving clarification “You! riding THE RAS”- Sheer Disbelief I have received all of these...
I grabbed the first thing I could find, a blooded syringe, and pinned his fat head against the frosted glass of the surgery. “I can’t , I can’t" he whimpered, “I’ve got kids” came the sob from his pillow like face. I took the needle...
There are times when words don’t need to be said. When spoken noises adds nothing to the world. I didn’t need to ask the bloke sitting much too close at the bar last night, the names of his girlfriends, as they were right there, tattooed...
I just read a race report blog with 11, eleven, individual, full-stopped reasons, why a performance wasn’t at the optimum. (11, not inclusive of the opening adjectives describing the wind as “strong” and the course as “rolley” as these can be considered pre-existing conditions) We are reading...
It was the best of days, it was the worst of days. Sitting with most of my gear on, waiting for the second pot of coffee to empty and the rain to stop. Three times I made it to the front door, worn cleats snapping...
They came at me along the road like bridesmaids at a farmer’s wedding. Equally spaced to the horizon by winter madness. The club run exploded, their kit admitted that they were still 30km from home. I drove on in the opposite direction, the gaps became less...
I was born under a tree. A yearning, handsome chestnut, whose drip, drip, was my father, and lack of investment in rural infrastructure, was my mother. A loose stone created my tiny face in poorly repaired tar, in 2011. After the hard winter of 2012,...
As we bounced out of the bar, I nearly held the door long enough for the waiter who couldn't see me earlier. Off home and happy after a typical cyclists night out: 3 pints, until drowning in aspiration talk of the coming season or long stories...