Cycling Sillyness, Part One.
Back when I was something like 14 or so, in the very early 1990’s (probably 1992) during summer holidays from school (probably something like mid July).

Panteneman Snr’s best mate and neighbour had cobbled together a 12speed racer for me some time ago when I was smaller, but now I was tall enough to use it. He was a car mechanic and had his own garage. And also used to doodle about with cycles and bikes too. He had a early 1970s vintage Norton, with the pannier cases on the side, a big motorway munching thing, and a couple of racers cobbled together with his own hands.

Me, a friend of mine and said neighbour went out on a cycling mission as it was a nice summer’s day, zipping around the country lanes around the East Lancs and surrounding areas.

It was the first time I had ever used a racer, as I owned a mountain bike. I was quite amazed with how nimble, light, and agile this thing was compared to the brick like aerodynamics of my 18speed Raleigh (can’t remember the name, but it was black and white with BMX type handlebars, of late 1980s vintage when mass market mountain bikes first gained popularity).

Anyway, I was quite enjoying flying along at a ridiculous speed on smooth country roads, enjoying the agility and aerodynamics of this racer, zipping along country lanes with my friend and neighbour in tow.

Until…I encounter a T junction. Being a flash bastard, I paid no attention to looking to the left. I do a sharp right turn at a rate of stupid MPH (for cycling). A silver Toyota Camry behind me squeals and applies the brakes, the front of the car being a mere few inches from my rear wheel while I pedal in absolute sheer terror to outrun the car. The car comes to a stop after a stopping distance that seemed to go on for miles, turning slightly with its front wheels just off the road into a field.

I stopped, and gained my breath, and the guy in the Camry is swearing his head off at my mate, and my neighbour. I continue looking ahead while the car drives off, acutely embarrassed.

“You’ve got a fucking death wish!”, the driver screamed driving past me, through an electric window on the passenger side that was closing.

A bollocking was administered by my neighbour, while my mate was pissing himself laughing. Fortunately for my neighbour he let it go and didn’t tell my folks.

I went a lot slower on that 12speed racer from that point onwards….
(Panteneman Isn't entirely sure why he bothered on, Tue 17 Feb 2009, 20:05, Reply)