Near Wipeout in Beckington/Chips from Dilton

On Wednesday night I explored Mill Lane in Beckington. I had no idea it was so steep and narrow and briefly lost some control on a sharp right. At 26mph I feathered the brakes to lose speed, but the rear wheel slipped on the chippings. The temptation was to grab handfuls of brake and lock the wheels. But I was wearing my cap instead of my helmet and the thought of stepping off at 26mph was a painful one. Instead I let go of the brake handles and just rode up the steep bank, wall of death style. I got back on the road carrying two cranks worth of goosegrass and with nettle stings on my left hand, but mercifully upright and still in motion all the way to the bottom of Mill lane; which is a bloody no-through road. So I rode back up the hill and I must be getting fitter because I found it so easy that I had to ride up and down Frome Road Hill twice before I felt sated.

On Frome Road

Now to this evening. I expressed my urge to eat chips and Chinese food to my wife and she, finding this most agreeable, bade me saddle-up and make haste by bicycle to Dilton Marsh. It was a lovely evening though the air felt very heavy, I took it easy, averaging 15mph on my way to the take-away (which is inexplicably called “Full House”). It’s a fine establishment, lucky cat on a shelf, lots of orchids in the windows, Chinese TV on in the background, everything a westerner expects of a Chinese take-away, the staff are also extremely fast at turning orders around.

Full House Chinese Take-Away, dusk

Into the Hi-Viz vest went one chicken curry and chips and one egg fried rice and chips. It was a squeeze and they were insanely hot, but the vest handled it. The only problem was that the nosh hung down from the front of the vest, banging into my knees on the pedal upstroke. The only way to stop a potential messy explosion of curry should a tub open was to cycle with my knees out, it must have looked as if I was cycling with sore knackers. The smell was maddening, making me almost delerious with hunger. So much so that as I passed from Wiltshire back into Somerset I imagined I was some sort of heroic chip smuggler bringing in illicit greasy tuck to fat-free Somerset; sneaking over the county line on my superfast smuggler’s racer, like a two-wheeled Jack Rattenbury. The boring gradient up to the Beckington roundabout slipped by easily, I could feel the chips were still hot. On arrival at the house I pulled the steaming tucker from my vest and unwrapped the paper to discover only minimal curry leakage in the five and a half mile ride from Dilton Marsh. Result!

Published in: on June 8, 2007 at 11:09 pm  Leave a Comment  

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