Profound Thinking

A correspondent from BBC Radio Derby recently cycled from Derby to Nottingham via the National Cycle Route 6 to see whether it was practical and enjoyable. Cycle Route 6 starts out as a grit track alongside the River Derwent, which is the way I run to work, then uses roads and other tracks as it meanders its way to Nottingham. The journey, of what they described as approximately 25-30km, took them around five hours, including a lunch stop in Breaston. So they weren't exactly tanking it but then again it isn't really a route than is made for fast cycling. Even so, they concluded, it is practical and enjoyable but... I conclude, and my point is that, at five hours it's not really a go-er as a commuter route, unless you want to leave home at 4am to get to work and not arrive home again until 9pm.

Which is why we commuter cyclists are on the road dicing with death, that is until someone comes up with a viable alternative. The 22km takes me under 51 minutes this morning, which is another new best time, knocking a minute off last weeks previous best. I'm at work absolutely ages before anyone else. I've made a few adjustments to my gears which are now working a lot better.

I try out that new 1% milk on my porridge this morning and couldn’t tell the difference but hopefully it's good for me.

Everyone's on their bikes today. L cycles to work and Daughter's done her papers on her bike, which she says was the most exhausting thing she's ever done in her life. It's a very heavy bike but just think how fit she'll be if she keeps it up.

Her exam today was 'Ok-ish', which apparently is not quite as good as yesterday's 'not bad'. Why can’t they just give marks out of ten like we do for films. Son doesn't have an exam today but was spending the day revising. Blimey, we have a new Son.

I take Doggo on the park, where we get to have a laugh at a chap out running with his young collie. The chap doesn't look like a runner because he has pristine white kit and matching legs. I think he's just trying to wear his dog out. The dog however is still at the age where it thinks biting the lead is a pretty cool idea, so chap and dog keep getting caught up in it and having to stop to untangle themselves. Then he sees Doggo and thinks playing with Doggo's ball looks fun too. I can't see them getting much running in but the chap will sleep well tonight.

Further round the park we bump into an old chap, who mutters to us, asking whether we've seen his terrier, who he says he's lost in the long grass. Turns out he's having a laugh and having a dig about the length of the grass which the council likes to cut as infrequently as possible, presumably to save money. He does have a point; it's totally exhausting trying to kick Doggo's ball in such deep undergrowth.

We get back and are greeted to some profound thinking from Daughter as she emerges from the bathroom, launching a diatribe about the Pope and condoms. What has she been mulling over in there.