Sunday Morning in the Saddle

I'm traveling over to Hinckley to leave a 'Goodie Bag' for one of our cyclists. He had come to our event by bike, and couldn't carry his goodie bag home with him.  We had said we would get it to him.  All part of the service.

My route goes along the track of the old London Midland Railway out towards Enderby.  The village of enderby is quite old, with a number of thatched cottages, but it's not pretty.  Most houses are done up in a cheap, plastic windows and false stained glass.  I passed the home of my old boss Jayne, who once used her own house for some training we received 17 years ago.. She had style I remember.  Her house was ok.

The route next went through a village where a sweet client of mine lives.  Mother and daughter were not about so I didn't have to decide whether to stop and chat, or put my head down and pretend not to see them.

Normanton has a reasonably interesting Manor House with a series of lakes, but it also has a ford across the road.  Dave's not keen on getting his beautiful bike wet.  He can use the pedestrian bridge when we come back next year of the Tour de Leicestershire 2.  The low sunlight gave me company for a number of miles; my silhouette in shadow. I examined my cadence and was reminded of a trip I made to our local bike shop soon after I bought my bike.  I enquired about the price of have my gears changes for a lower set.  The attendant looked at me, and at my bike.  He said that any changes would cost as much as the bike. (how did he know it was a cheap bike from Halfords?)  An then he looked at me and suggested that I just needed to improve my cadence (pedaling speed.)  I guess they didn't need my business, but it felt like he could see right through me.

Leicestershire has some very working class towns.  Earl Shilton is one of them.  It was featured in Saturdays local paper with an article about what a rich vibrant high street it has.  I went down it today.  It's not pretty, but also not boring, so true.  Not one chain store in sight.

Earl Shilton - not pretty, but no chain store.  Not bad.

After Hinckley I headed through Aston Flamville, choosing it because I like the idea of  a burning village.  The route flew by through the villages of south leicestershire.  Frolesworth, where the church bell tolled, summonsing people to church and was sadly cracked.  Roger Button later told me it might be 350 years old.  I wondered how they would cope if I popped in for communicon in my tight shorts and red top. Leire, named after King Lear some say. And then perhaps Leicester?   At Saddington I saw a field full of cars.  It was the Sunday car boot sale.  100's of people staring into boots.  Kibworth, Carlton Curlieu with it's mysterious 17th century manor house, well hidden by large hedges.

Carlton Curlieu's hidden gem.

Then my tyres then seemed to give up.  The first puncture took some time to repair.  At the second I gave up and rang Margaret who came to my rescue.  I was only two miles from home, as I limped in on a slow puncture.