nud1e
Registered user
Procrastination - it's a grand word when you spell it right the first time,but enough was enough, If it were done, when 'tis done, then twere well/It were done quickly (Macbeth) - there was but one photo to be taking, the other 23 had been long done.
The route had been plotted on Mapsource, repeatedly, but it didn't get any shorter or quicker than that first plot - it was to be a round trip of 300 miles or 7½ hours in the saddle.
Now the 1150 is a grand machine, don't ye know, but the seat, boys thon seat was not made for mere mortal men, them Germans must have different arses or else they like the pain, 100 miles is my limit and then it's out o the saddle and onto the pegs, like that squirt through thon tunnel in Cork wi all the traffic and some half mad eejit in a jamjar.
Anyways, I'd been putting it off, but it was always there, lurking like Banquo's ghost - I had to do MacBeth for my O levels back in 1966, where has the time gone?.
Serendipity is another lovely word.
Now I usually avoid that EBay, Aldi's your only man, sez I, but didn't I spot an 1150 Corbin seat on auction, and it only up the road in Ennis. Couple of days later and I had it, reasonable price too.
So, the instrument of torture, no doubt from the same mind as invented the rack or the Iron Maiden, was taken off and the Corbin was on.
Mapsource still produced the same result, but the weather was conveniently wet enough to postpone the inevitable - any excuse would have done.
Frank Sinatra once declined to do a benefit concert, and the organiser asked "Why?", "Because the sky's blue" sez Frank, "What sorta reason is that?" and Frank sez " When you don't what to do something, one excuse is as good as any other." The man was an Italian asshole, but I digress, as it too cold to undress.
The rear tyre was getting a bit thin, was there enough oil in the engine, would I miss anything good on the telly? What if I had another dose of the runs, or a bad bit of indigestion?
And then the weather turned, and the grass was cut and it was time to get rid of that fecking monkey and so one bright Sunday morning I was on my way.
I crossed the Shannon at O'Brienbridge, then onto Gort by way of Broadford, O'Callaghan's Mills and Tulla.
Not in tune with the bike or the roads or the ride.
The skies darkened ahead over Galway and I stopped to put on some overtrousers.
Light rain through Kilcolgan and Clarinbridge, but a patch or two of blue sky over Connemara. The GPS routed me around Galway and I found myself on the road to Headford.
The blue patches were obscured by the gray and black and the wind had picked up - considerably.
Through the place of the Joyces, Headford and suddenly I was deperate for a piss - it's them bloody blood pressure tablets - so a gap in the hedge was located and layer upon layer was rapidly cast aside and - relief
Now, here was a strange thing, no aching bum, no need to ride on the pegs, well wasn't that auld Corbin seat doing the job.
This was all hard work, a bit of a struggle and it seems to me that the miles from Mulranny to Achill get longer the closer that you get to Achill.
Anyways, to cut a long story shorter, I got there and took the photo and then I came home.
I said "Sod the tyre, and the Sunday drivers, and why aren't they watching the All Ireland?" and suddenly the bike and I were as one and I had a blast back home with the fuel light coming on with the house in sight - serendipity or what?
300 miles, and no pain in the arse and home for tea/supper/dinner.
The route had been plotted on Mapsource, repeatedly, but it didn't get any shorter or quicker than that first plot - it was to be a round trip of 300 miles or 7½ hours in the saddle.
Now the 1150 is a grand machine, don't ye know, but the seat, boys thon seat was not made for mere mortal men, them Germans must have different arses or else they like the pain, 100 miles is my limit and then it's out o the saddle and onto the pegs, like that squirt through thon tunnel in Cork wi all the traffic and some half mad eejit in a jamjar.
Anyways, I'd been putting it off, but it was always there, lurking like Banquo's ghost - I had to do MacBeth for my O levels back in 1966, where has the time gone?.
Serendipity is another lovely word.
Now I usually avoid that EBay, Aldi's your only man, sez I, but didn't I spot an 1150 Corbin seat on auction, and it only up the road in Ennis. Couple of days later and I had it, reasonable price too.
So, the instrument of torture, no doubt from the same mind as invented the rack or the Iron Maiden, was taken off and the Corbin was on.
Mapsource still produced the same result, but the weather was conveniently wet enough to postpone the inevitable - any excuse would have done.
Frank Sinatra once declined to do a benefit concert, and the organiser asked "Why?", "Because the sky's blue" sez Frank, "What sorta reason is that?" and Frank sez " When you don't what to do something, one excuse is as good as any other." The man was an Italian asshole, but I digress, as it too cold to undress.
The rear tyre was getting a bit thin, was there enough oil in the engine, would I miss anything good on the telly? What if I had another dose of the runs, or a bad bit of indigestion?
And then the weather turned, and the grass was cut and it was time to get rid of that fecking monkey and so one bright Sunday morning I was on my way.
I crossed the Shannon at O'Brienbridge, then onto Gort by way of Broadford, O'Callaghan's Mills and Tulla.
Not in tune with the bike or the roads or the ride.
The skies darkened ahead over Galway and I stopped to put on some overtrousers.
Light rain through Kilcolgan and Clarinbridge, but a patch or two of blue sky over Connemara. The GPS routed me around Galway and I found myself on the road to Headford.
The blue patches were obscured by the gray and black and the wind had picked up - considerably.
Through the place of the Joyces, Headford and suddenly I was deperate for a piss - it's them bloody blood pressure tablets - so a gap in the hedge was located and layer upon layer was rapidly cast aside and - relief
Now, here was a strange thing, no aching bum, no need to ride on the pegs, well wasn't that auld Corbin seat doing the job.
This was all hard work, a bit of a struggle and it seems to me that the miles from Mulranny to Achill get longer the closer that you get to Achill.
Anyways, to cut a long story shorter, I got there and took the photo and then I came home.
I said "Sod the tyre, and the Sunday drivers, and why aren't they watching the All Ireland?" and suddenly the bike and I were as one and I had a blast back home with the fuel light coming on with the house in sight - serendipity or what?
300 miles, and no pain in the arse and home for tea/supper/dinner.
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