Adventures In Modern Cycling No. 14: Bognor/Brighton/Bognor.

Nurse Unfeasibly Large Breasts:  "Oh, Doctor, Doctor, can't you save him?"

Doctor Malcolm Practice: "I'm afraid not Nurse Unfeasibly Large Breasts.  He's to far gone. He's more bicycle than human now and the bits that aren't bicycle are to heavily infected with ukuleles to respond to any kind of treatment medical science can provide at the present time".

Yep, bad as y'like, infected to the bone, all new, Nasty Attack of Bicycles in full effect.

Just before I set off for Brighton I had a quick search through my blog postings to find out when I last did this ride.

To my amazement it was 3 years and a week ago!

Go here if you don't believe me: Adventures In Modern Cycling No. 8: Brighton...

In fact, I think I'll come with you because I can't believe it's that long ago.

Wait here while I get my trombone.

I've taken to wearing a cycle helmet (stop laughing younger me back there in my memory!).

My cycle helmet looks like the top half of Gort's head out of The Day The Earth Stood Still but sadly doesn't have a  built-in death-ray.

That would be soooooo handy every now and then.

Along with the ribald laughter of my younger self I can still hear the mockery of an old cycling chum, "Wot y'doin' wit' piss-pot on y'ed?"

I set off at around 12:30.

The time is not exact because I'm trying not to obsess about speed and distance and time and heart-rate and liquid intake I'm just going for a bicycle ride along the coast from Bognor Regis to Brighton and back again.

I have made a deal with myself.

I will not chase down and overtake other cyclists nor will I draft the ones that overtake me.

I will concentrate on my own ride which will be steady and controlled.

Ommmmmm......

Things have changed since the last time I did this ride.

Coming into Littlehampton the South Coast Cycle Route signs seem to have disappeared.

Those that are there have be vandalised and now point toward the ground.

This situation will not change any time soon now we're in a double-dip recession with sprinkles and a 99 flake.

One improvement has been made.

Bicycles are allowed on the prom which will be great in winter when the visitors have gone but on a sunny Bank Holiday in August before the kids go back its to bloody dangerous and my bike handling skills are just fine so I don't need the practice thanks.

Do you know how much damage a small child could do if it were to collide with a bicycle?

It doesn't bear thinking about.

Heading into Rustington I notice something.

There's definitely a problem with the pedal cranks.

Correct!

One of the cotter-pins has come loose.

I stop and give it a light tweek as it feels like the thread is going to strip if I really try to tighten it down.

A decision now has to be made.

Do I carry on to Brighton and hope the cotter-pin will hold or do I do the sensible thing and head back home to carry out repairs?

So, on to Brighton it is then. 

No event of any interest occurs between Rustington and Goring.

This is not unusual as no event of any interest has ever occurred between Rustington and Goring.

I resisted the temptation to chase down a fat bloke on a squeaky mountain bike who puffed and blew beetroot red as he ground past me.

But it was a close run thing I can tell you

I got control of my inner-chimp, pulled up at the kerb and had a leisurely drink of Mango and Orange and Passion fruit squash.

I didn't have a good word to say about passing through Worthing three years ago but, like Littlehampton, cyclists are allowed to use the prom.

Suffice to say I stuck to the road until I'd passed through Worthing as it's even more popular than the prom at Littlehampton.

More non-events took place and I found myself in Southwick, or is it Shoreham?

Oh, BigMetalTower I love you:

Oh, water treatment tanks I love you:

I think these things are beautiful.

On into Hove Actually and I'm back to dodging pedestrians as I didn't fancy the alternative of riding on the road. 

It's a lot busier here that back along the way.

I end up at the same cafe I visited last time.

The clientele are interesting because of the pity they invoke.

Super-annuated Greasers (I refuse to describe them as "Rockers") and Muds still eyeing one another suspiciously and grunting.

I can't for the life of me decide which sub-kulture looks more ridiculous.

For fucksake grow up.

I order chips, mushy peas and coffee:

I left the lid on the mushy peas as the shade of green they are can cause blindness.

Three years ago this was the point where the ride took a turn for the worse because my legs had ceased up after stopping.

This time my legs were fine.

The problem this time is the ferocious head-wind.

I'd like to be able to describe what it's like to ride for over 30 miles into a ferocious head-wind but I can't because I can't remember it.

My consciousness escaped into a magic fantasy world filled with cute anthropomorphic woodland creatures all singing and dancing special dances just for my entertainment.

I did notice however that the cotter-pin was getting loose again but I chose to ignore it.

That's about it really.

Except for the Scottish bloke balancing stones on top of one another in Worthing:

To describe this man's efforts I'll employ a word I don't often use.

I think that's cool and I wish I had the skill, time and patience to do something like it.

I got home at around 18:30 so I reckon I was averaging around 10 mph.

But that doesn't matter because there's still a very, very long way to go.