Blog from 5th March 2019 from the Meon Hut AKA the Two for One.
Despite the promise of torrential rain it was a respectable turnout with Smashie and Genghis arriving in the new pikey van meeting up with Corkey, Plastic Man and Chuff. With Smashie as RM it was agreed that the ride would be dry and mud free and everyone was full of optimism before we set off.
Traditionally the blog discusses the riders before the actual ride and this adds colour to the tapestry of our adventures but sadly this blogger has little to report:
1. Fracker is in “big trouble” with his new crayons ..if its black and white – Fracker is going to colour it in. Desperate colleagues are considering removing the new crayons ..that could go badly wrong for everyone.
2. Sir Fallalot is now definitely in dispute with his dragon and there are moves to refer the dispute to binding arbitration. Would you want to take on a pissed off dragon? Not me either, and I don’t fancy our brave Knights chances myself, but he’s not a man to shirk a fight if he believes he is right (or wrong!).
3. Genghis – has received his delivery of advanced adult entertainment gizmos from Plastic man and we can assume that he and Mrs Genghis are still at the “reading the instructions stage” so no news to report.
4. Dobby - Castrato operation is booked, but he is giving serious consideration to removing his seat from his bike and riding through a rock garden instead. Much money will be saved.
5. DFB – no news
6. Slumpy – worn out from thinking
7. Corkey has a new pickup truck which is so big he has to get on a step ladder to fit his bike onto the roof rack. Yes it is that big, and Corkey has to climb up the ladder to remove and refit his bike. This truck is so big it makes normal humans look small so I am thinking of a nickname along the lines of Tonka or Dinky. Please comment on the blog comments section below - because Corkey needs a proper nickname.
So, onto the ride. We slog up the hill with no name and the going is tough. Slippy roots, mud and horses combine to leave the peleton out of breath by the top, with Plastic man having to stop to put his chain back on (it had fallen off whilst trying to engage granny gear).
Then to the airfield and the entrance is now resplendent with a new footpath style kissing gate (please note the SHABI’s only ride on Bridleways and permitted by-ways and would NEVER use a footpath. If we were to do so, it would be by complete accident and probably because we were lost in which case, we would push our bikes – got that everyone!?)
Anyway Chuff is the first to tackle getting his newly serviced Bird through the kissing gate and gets a bit stuck and puts himself into the “idiot of the ride” category immediately. Genghis laughs out loud and promptly offers to show “how it should be done”. The next five minutes are taken up with Genghis getting his bike completely stuck in the kissing gate, and despite removing it and starting again three or four times, fails to get his bike through the gate.
Eventually, with hyperthermia and boredom overcoming the Peleton, two fellow riders lift his bike over the adjacent farm gate. Never before has such over confidence in the face of adversity experienced by others, resulted in such comprehensive humiliation. Genghis is truly an idiot in the best SHABI tradition. My vote for Idiot of the year 2019.
Now over the airfield and onwards towards the Tin church. The mud is becoming quite .. er um ..muddy and everyone is getting plastered .. and then it starts to rain. Corkey says that Chuff looks like he has shat himself … pot kettle.
Then onwards and onwards and over the A272 and the climb up the hill by the 12th Century Church. The ploughed fields and horses make the going as tough as can be. Everyone is on the red line.
The final stretch home is so muddy your blogger has been moved to poetry – it goes like this:
Mud mud mud mud
Muddy mud mud mud
Slippy Mud mud mud MUD
Actually the poem is much much longer but you get the basic idea.
So finally we freewheel down the hill to the Meon Hut and much more mud is sprayed onto the riders from speeding tyres over puddles. We scrape off our clothes and settle down in the pub for some average food. The burger maestro made no comment on his serving of Cholesterol, so average it was.
Scores on the doors as follows: