One of those rides that makes all that trudging through the winter mud worthwhile, lingering sunshine well into the evening meant riding until nine thirty with no need to even fire up the lights.
With Tom's bike knacked, a few regulars off at Glastonbury and a couple of other no-shows numbers were down on previous weeks. But Lloydy was there, breaking in his new steed - a flash new Voodoo complete with singlespeed ready fitments. Gonna take the plunge Lloydy?
Across the golf course and towards the monument the trails were bone dry and the going fast. Over past the monument and towards the beacon we took a slightly different route over toward Kite Hill, the rolling hills bathed in late evening sunshine. And full of runners. By the time we'd debated whether or not we'd be tripping over them further down the road they were gone and we were rolling down Kite Hill, Karl grumbling that it was already nine and we weren't at the pub. "They might run out of beer!" he was heard saying as he rode off - literally - into the sunset.
Down to Tring Station and the canal and the Riser was but a quick blast down the towpath away. Or it would have been had I not picked up a puncture. Yup, I managed to ride the thorn-strewn towpath and pick up a flat … from a rusty nail. Thankfully The Riser hadn't run out of beer though.