what goes quack, quack, plonk?

Nine arrived at The other place and the conversation drifted around but come the allotted hour and the appearance of the Union corner crowd, the cry went up “Where’s the derny bike when you need it?” We waited for Mike and the pacer machine but it wasn’t to be today, another chain snap maybe?
Anyway there was plenty to talk about besides. Damien sported a new pair of bright red cycle shoes which coordinated with his cycle top so was considered acceptable. A few wore shorts and a couple braved bare shins but some refused to accept the onset of spring and continued with total leg cover. The chairman sported a touch of designer haute couture, namely a natty “Wheelers” buff, and was occasionally heard during the ride rendering his sales pitch (he strongly denies any personal financial gain!).
On to the ride, Porthtowan the destination. A familiar routing via Cusgarne, Chacewater and beyond proved uneventful, but we should have taken note of Trevarno Dave who split from the gang at Blackwater to return home direct. All was cosy until we were confronted by a grump on a horse coming the other way. The gang slowed to an orderly walking pace but clearly this was insufficient preparation, judging by her frantic arm waving (or maybe she was trying to emulate the Wright brothers). We were perplexed, as was the poor horse. Needless to say she wasn’t happy, and Simon did his best to calm the waters. Meanwhile Ian slipped silently by, later confessing to knowing the grump.
Coffee and solids at the Beach cafe were, thankfully, uneventful. Split into separate tables of 4 (totalling 6 you understand) the conversation at our table flitted from tales of derring do on the high seas, to a discussion of the varying merits of dental anaesthetics (including one story involving a duck with a wooden leg!!!), to a comparison of leg scars (as in “JAWS”). This latest contest proved an outright win for Ian with his harrowing tale of sharing a field with a bull and coming off second best – I’ll let him tell the story.
The route home via Redruth was familiar and straightforward, with only white van man but no bulls or horses to contend with.
Simon did the usual peel off near Lanner, parting with some story about hill walking next week and missing the ride, but we know it’s just the first available opportunity for a second haircut, having enjoyed the first so much!. The rest of the gang, including Amanda, Phil S and Adrian carried on to Penhalvean where the author took it upon himself to make a tactical decision and gun it, sorry if I didn’t see you again. A good ride, thanks.
43 miles for me. Paul

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