Front end washout

Not some strange meteorological system rather an overarching description of the Leigh family three’s summer accidents. First Verbal discovered gears and understeer at about the same time and binned the front end on a gravel track corner leaving her with a line of scars running from cheek to ankle. This took quite a lot of ice cream and attention before she accepted it was probably non fatal.

Then my attempt to imbibe Chiltern flint through high speed osmosis spookily also at the painful end of a wheel tucking under on a fast corner. Twice might be a coincidence but today it became clear this is some kind of genealogical malfunction that affects this entire branch of the family.

The local cycling route sees us head up the road and then down into the cemetery (verbal quote dad, are there lots of dead people here?”) which has a simple concrete loop on a slight gradient. Random disappeared down the hill with all the cautiousness and care that define a five year old. I couldn’t chase her on account of my still dodgy knee but her cries of pain some five seconds later did for my ears what my eyes couldn’t see.

We found her lying in the middle of the first corner having “ yep you guessed it “ overcooked the entry and instinctively turned in harder to the point where gravity defeats grip and road beats bare skin. She was fine though and after a little blub bravely took back to the track for many more circuits although with a noticeable decrease in rumbustuousness.

Verbal rides round with a thunderous expression as if someone has asked her to tidy her room for the rest of her natural life. Short of lining the route with ice cream or promising her a video of her efforts, I think she’s possibly not going to enjoy the sport as much as I do.

So three accidents, three front end washouts. You know what this means? We all clearly need new bikes. There’s no way we can all be that rubbish.

Oh and I checked about the bike frame. It’s two testicles. Tough call.

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