Long wet Coker ride, with metaphorical nettles

I have the week off work and no clear plans. I get up late. It's
overcast, warm and muggy. Which uni to take? I choose the Coker.

I set off from Trent Fields, near the half pipes, and receive the
customary cat calls from the skater kids. However, uniquely, I do see
one of them land a trick! Instead of turning right and heading across
the field and down river, I turn left and, with the river to my right,
I ride up past the City Ground (Nottingham Forest F.C.), under Trent
Bridge, and along the embankment to the suspension bridge. All of this
is fairly standard stuff and passes without incident. There's some sort
of waterways festival on the river, and there are more boats than usual.
Boaters are generally a decent lot, and I get a bit of friendly
encouragement.

The Suspension Bridge is the first appreciable obstacle. I reckon to
ride across it without a UPD about 95% of the time, but the risk is
there. Half way across, I'm distracted by the sight of Police divers
("frogmen" as we used to call them) on the river bank. Murder hunt? It
looks more like they're trying to retrieve a sunken car or something. A
few kids are watching, and one shouts some mildly amusing abuse at me.
Fortunately, I make it across the bridge, down the ramp, between the
iron bollards and make the tricky sharp turn left without incident.

Then it's an easy cruise over broken tarmac, and a short dash over wet
grass, and I'm on the cycle track alongside the main road.

Here, I see a dead badger on the verge. Presumably it's roadkill,
although the corpse seems pretty intact. It's so rare to see one in the
wild but this one had been run over on a very urban main road.

About now, I start to think of the possibility of reaching Beeston
Marina without a single UPD. The distance isn't that great (about 5.5
miles / 9 km) but there are a few obstacles on the way. I start to
contemplate the maths. If I have a 95% chance of success on each of 5
obstacles, then I have about a ¾ chance of making the distance with no
UPDs. But some of those obstacles are trickier than that, because I
have to time the traffic lights, and make tight turns. I decide to go
for it.

I ride under the underpass, which is a down, up, down, up, down, up,
route, clapping my wristguards together at the turns to warn people that
I'm on my way. I make the tight turn at the exit, time the road
junction just right, then I'm on cycle track again. I relax a little,
but maintain concentration. Last time, I did a dynamic UPD a mile short
of the marina, for no good reason at all.

Down onto the canal towpath, I watch out for the overhanging briars,
contemplate picking some blackberries, but ride on regardless. All
that's in the way now is the rough bit of cobblestone near the hump
backed bridge, then the footbridge. The first is no problem; the second
takes extreme care, with tight corners in the lead in and the exit. I'm
always nervous around safety rails that are at knee level as I'm
riding... but I make it, and soon I arrive at the marina. Here, a
closed gate forces me to stop.

5.65 miles in 35 minutes. That's an average of 9.7 mph (15.5 kmh). The
computer shows a maximum recorded speed of 11 mph (17.6 kmh), showing a
steady and consistent ride. And I feel fresh.

From here, I ride through Attenborough Nature Reserve, which is where I
did most of my early unicycling in the late 1980s. The path is crushed
limestone chippings, rolled flat, so the riding is easy, except for two
steep bridges. After exactly 2 miles, I reach the far side of the
reserve, and dismount for a gate.

The next challenging section is single track, hard baked, and
corrugated. There's nothing difficult, but it requires constant
concentration. I UPD twice in the space of a mile or two. I could have
done better, but it is a numbers game on this type of surface.

I soon reach the next canal towpath and make good time as far as Trent
Lock, where there are two pubs and a tea room. I resist the temptation
to stop, and ride along the path atop the flood bank, the river now to
my left, and a golf course to the right. It's hot and I'm starting to
get hungry and thirsty.

Then it's the Worst Footbridge Of All! The approach is under the arch
of the railway bridge, then there's a sharp left turn on a gritty
surface, onto a steep concrete ramp with safety rails about 30 inches
apart. (75 cm.) I fluff the turn and UPD. I walk back, remount and
try again. I make the turn, but never quite get the momentum right for
the steep climb. I stall and UPD.

I return to the start, and this time I make the turn, make the climb,
ride over the bridge, then start the descent of the steep ramp.

Ha ha! The ramp slopes down, then there's a small landing and a 90
degree turn to the right and a second slope down. Half way down the
ramp, I see my future unfold: I see the steady acceleration, I hear the
cry of despair, the thud of kneebone on barrier, the whistling of air
past my helmet, the splash, the faint cry for help, and I see the vile
green waters of the Trent closing over me... Time to bail out. I walk
the second part of the ramp.

At the bottom, I have a pleasant conversation with an elderly female
bicyclist, who asks sensible questions about the Coker. Her grand
daughter listens with horror, clearly ashamed that grandmother could
speak to such a weirdo.

It's a lovely ride from here, past the narrowboats and cruisers at
Sawley Marina. There's a nicely restored little Dutch barge moored by
the towpath, with its leeboards displayed like the fins of a giant carp.
Then I pop up the ramp onto the pavement, and it's a mile or so along
the side of the busy main road to the cafe, where I stop for a veggie
breakfast and coffee. It's a year since I've been here, but the
proprietor seems to remember me. Two or three of the customers express
jocular interest in the Coker. It's not a posh cafe, but it's a nice
place to stop.

By now, it is overcast and very muggy, threatening to rain. There is
one obvious reason for this: I am at the furthest point from the car
that I will reach all day.

I set off through The Warren - a network of narrow country lanes - and
I'm steaming along when suddenly my heel catches the crank. Before I
know it, I'm running down the road, Cokerless. This is my first Coker
UPD on smooth tarmac for months.

A little while later, I pass the traveller's caravan. A very unsociable
traveller keeps his scruffy, lichen-roofed caravan on a bend in the
lane. There's only ever the one van there, one man, and two big dogs.
His Ford Transit is marked, unconvincingly, Specialist Roofing
Services.

By now, I've done about 17 miles, and the Viscount seat is starting to
make itself known to me. I start to fidget, and I place the heel of my
hand on the front of the seat and lean on it. This makes my hand hurt
instead - or as well.

About two or three painful miles later, I pull onto the frontage of The
Star at West Leake - a fantastic traditional English pub, in a 17th
century building. I buy a pint of Caledonian Deuchar's IPA and go
outside to read my paper. The rain starts to fall, so I retreat into
the pub. It's only a shower, so it won't last long... oh, it's getting
heavier.. much heavier, in fact.

Eventually, I decide I must set off, rain or no rain. The drinkers in
the pub are treated to the ridiculous sight of me putting a waterproof
jacket on over a shirt that is saturated with sweat. The landlady comes
over to ask if I'm on the "monocycle", then sees the full face helmet
and says, "Oh, of course not. You're on a motorbike."

I explain that I am in fact on the unicycle, and she leads all of her
customers out into the rain to watch me ride off. Don't you just love
freemounting a Coker when you're tired and you have a big audience?


--
Mikefule - Roland Hope School of Unicycling

Everyone should be fatuous for 15 minutes.
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