Last week was the first week of Cycle Safety. I've done a couple of bike checks, but last week was the first school, and a trial to see if my rather tight schedule allowed enough room and time for the children to learn the things they needed to.
Monday and Friday as usual were taken up with my work as Mechanic at Bluestone, and there were unexpected problems here which added to my workload.
On Tuesday morning the bridge of my specs broke, for around the 4th time. Fortunately my optician is just up the road from where I was working, and I was able to get them repaired quite quickly. My spare is a pair that Specsavers got completely wrong - I can just about see through them for distance, but any reading or writing is out of the question.
That did add a few extra miles onto my commute though, and meant that I didn't get the rest I was looking forward to on Wednesday morning. My total mileage for the week (Monday to Friday) was 136 miles, much of it quite heavily laden with the equipment I need for Cycle Safety - 2 full panniers and a rucksack. Every day of work, either at Bluestone or at school, I was on my feet the entire time.
I have to say that my ride to and from Bluestone on Friday was hard. In previous posts I have crowed about how easy it can be. Not so this day. My bike felt like the brakes were rubbing on the rims, like the chain had become one solid lump, like the frame had been filled with lead. The backs of my knees hurt with every ounce of extra pressure. Every way I went was uphill. My breathing was all wrong, and my lungs felt as though they had been sealed off from the rest of me, lined with clingfilm, so that although they were still gasping air, none of it was getting through to my bloodstream. My nose was constantly clogged with snot and my eyes streaming with tears from the wind, which was constantly in my face.
Thursday at the school, when I handed out certificates, received a thankyou card and an excellent feedback form, was just a heaven-sent day from beginning to end, capped off when a young girl who had recently moved from busy Essex to sleepy Pembrokeshire, came and told me that I had "removed her fear of roads".
Friday was the day from hell, in many ways.
On the way home on Friday, an hour later than usual, I really didn't think that I was going to make it. The prevailing wind in Pembrokeshire is a sou'wester, which shapes the trees, and it was strong, and in my face the whole way. The last 5 miles from Carew to Pembroke Dock is not pleasant at the best of times, pounding along the trunk road amid heavy fast moving traffic, but with the wind in your face and the sun in your eyes (better than rain I suppose) it can be hellish. I really felt like stopping at the Carew Inn and texting a friend to come and pick me up while I enjoyed a leisurely pint, but the chances were my friend's car wouldn't be available, and I'd have to restart the horrible journey after a pint and a rest. Maybe I should have.
I'd love to be able to tell you that despite all this I still cycled home with a song in my heart and a prayer on my lips, but I didn't. To make matters worse, my ipod wasn't charged up in the morning. I couldn't shut the world out. I cursed every car which sped past me, sometimes silently sometimes loudly, particularly those which blared horns. I cursed every hill I climbed, and there are many.
Sometimes, there's just no easy way.
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