So I’m back from my week of, as Rob describes it, ‘viewing historic attractions’ in the Peak District. Not a bad place to visit — it was my first time — but for me it’s a case of unfinished business as regards riding.
All week I had the same view from the passenger seat of the car, steep craggy hills with lots of potential for mountain biking fun and physical hard work. As I’ve said before, Mark might feel he got off lightly but I’d like to return with my bike when I’m well and give the place a try.
The family (we visited with my wife’s sister and in-laws) did get some riding in on a couple of occasions on the extensive network of disused railway lines in the area, both times resulting in some rider damage.
First, Mark’s daughter face planted on a cinder path, thankfully with no more than the odd scrape as she tried to keep up with the pace of the adults and got a wobble on. Then my son, towed by Mark got his hand bashed against a post as Mark tried to negotiate it, forgetting that the tagalong doesn’t go round those things so easily. Again, fortunately without serious injury although when he arrived back at the car park my sons hand looked like it had been pulverised (I know Mark felt terrible about it).
All of which, in conjunction with my injury, has prompted my son to say recently that when he grows up he doesn’t think he’ll bother riding a bike! Hopefully he’ll come round…