I shouldn’t have done it. I should have just left the dust cover on and cleaned the filth off my winter bike instead, but no, I had to do it, didn’t I? After all, it’s March, the Daffodils are flowering and the tree buds are swelling, ripe to burst. Spring is meant to be here, and I’ll be keeping a sharp eye out for the first Swallows and Martins on spins around Grafham. Summer is around the corner, so time to get the summer bike prepped.
So three weekends ago I dusted off the cobwebs, and took her along to my LBS (Broken Spoke, Eaton Socon) for a service. I got her back tight and smooth with a new cassette and chain. As I’m sure you can appreciate, come the weekend, I was keen to take her out for a ride. Only it rained, heavily. Next weekend then? Hmm, sleet and more heavy rain, perhaps not. How about this weekend. Snow, ice and salty roads, I don’t think so. And still the forecaster’s say, Winter’s end is no where in sight. It has been a long winter and now all I want is to steam through the sunny lanes in just a layer or two, but March has been a depressing road from excitement to resignation via frustration.
Maybe I’ll bet the house on a White Easter and move to Southern Europe. Their economies may be further up the creek than ours, but at least they can contemplate their lot with coffee in sunshine. I’m not sure my family will approve that idea though. So, I’ll hang my summer bike on the wall and, with a mug of instant, head back to the garage to prep my winter bike for the months ahead. Meanwhile, the heralds of summer are still tweeting darkly somewhere over the Sahara; it’s grim up north.