It feels like an age since I took on the Orange P7 from Colin’s dad, but I still haven’t ridden it.

I came so close, but as soon as I sat on my new charge saddle it tipped back, the happening wasn’t serious, but it was pretty damn surprising. I didn’t quite fall off.

Trying to tighten it up didn’t work. The knurls (is that the right word?) that hold the two bits of the seat post together must have worn away because I couldn’t make it grip.

I’ve now left it in The Bike Shed, the shop at the end of the road, where they’ll get me a new post.

All in all it will end up costing me as much as a reasonable new bike, but no new bike is ever likely to be as cool as the P7 will be.

P7

 

I’ll pick it up next week and then I need to get myself fit as there is talk of the girl’s cycling club going out to Coed Y Brennin – no idea if that is spelt right, but it’s the big mountain bike trail out in north Wales. One of the girls has a house out there where we’ll all stay, and then ride the few miles to the centre.

Right now just riding up the hill to her house would do me in completely, and I’m the youngest of the girls so I can’t let them trash me. I’ve been giving it hell around Manchester on my Plug, but you have to ride a long way to get to any hills around here.

It’s funny how a lot of girl cyclists blame their big arses on their miles in the saddle, my little arse is as tight as a bun, and I’m very proud of it – shame lycra isn’t my thing really.

Oops – sorry just a little self indulgent digression there.

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