Lazy Leopards Misty Start

Joe D

The weather forecast promised a dry, agreeable Saturday morning. Naturally, the universe interpreted this as an invitation to lay on a mist so persistent it felt contractual. Still, spirits were high at MSC as our Lazy Leopards group gathered, partly because it wasn’t actually raining, and partly because everyone was being very deliberate about riding tidily after recent feedback that some (or was it just one?) MR groups had looked less ‘sleek peloton’ and more ‘shopping-trolley derby’ last week.

Off we went at 08:30 sharp, following a route that felt as though someone had drawn it with a malfunctioning compass: north up Spinfield Lane, then east, then south, then west toward Henley. Warming up was guaranteed; navigation certainty was optional.

My personal dilemma appeared early: mudguards. Last weekend, my group ran at a 75% mudguard-free majority. This week, the sole outlier was me. Nothing like the creeping fear that people think you’re hiding at the back to freeload rather than to maintain spray-etiquette.

Tim, our ride leader, had the unenviable task of keeping together a group who largely didn’t know each other’s names. He did so admirably, especially given the slick surfaces and early-morning wobbliness that comes of under-caffeinated cyclists.

We’d got to Henley, crossed the bridge and headed out to Wargrave and then up a few quiet roads leading to Cockpole Green when fate intervened. Andy’s disc brake began making the ominous grinding sound usually associated with medieval torture devices. A huddle formed instantly; twelve riders peering at the afflicted mechanism, each wearing the expression of someone who once watched a YouTube tutorial on bike maintenance. After a solemn group inspection, the emerging consensus was that it was ‘probably bad’.

Tim, full of gentle compassion, floated the possibility that Andy might need to cut his losses and head home. Enter Reza: HR man by profession, capewearing saviour by reputation. Produced from his kit was a portable socket set so complete it may have violated several civil aviation regulations. Channeling the spirit of Cris from Flat Harry’s, he diagnosed, adjusted, tightened, and - miracle of miracles - restored function within minutes. Our 20-minute sabbatical in the thriving metropolis of Crazies Hill came to a welcome end.

We rolled on smoothly until one of the Robs surrendered to the persistent annoyance of a rubbing mudguard. A brief pit stop, a decisive removal, and the offending article was responsibly disposed of.

The remainder was bliss: tidy riding, good pace, cheerful chatter, and the comforting knowledge that no further components attempted to self-destruct. We got back to MSC via Cookham & Winter Hill, where we’d waved goodbye to 2 of our number who clearly don’t know just how good the bacon rolls are (very), but maybe do know how bad the coffee is (quite). For a fortunate few, Rebellion pints rounded off an entertaining and eminently reportable ride.