By: Blonde Two
I had a lovely day yesterday. It had all of the elements in it that make Blondes happy. Dartmoor, sunshine, skylarks, flasks of tea, meeting some Dartmoory friends, Fox Tor Cafe, Bimbles, picnics (well actually I forgot my sandwich) and … lots and lots of lycra. The only thing that was missing was Blonde One – I had nobody to giggle with and I kept thinking how much she would have enjoyed it all.
My day started early (although not as early as some people’s days) at the Dartmoor Classic Welcome village at Newton Abbot Racecourse. Never, in the history of the whole World-of-Blonde, have so many taut lycra clad bottoms and bulging thighs been viewable in the same place at the same time. I tried my best to concentrate and did spot Mr Blonde Two setting off on his 107 mile cycle trip.
After a very pleasant natter with some of our Ashburton Dartmoor Rescue friends, it was back into the truck (once I had remembered where it was parked) and off up to Dartmoor. I was amazed, as I crossed Holne Bridge to see that some competitors had beaten me to it (they had gone the long way round). I needed the loo which was the perfect excuse to call in at the lovely Fox Tor Cafe and pick up a take-away bacon sandwich and coffee. The bacon, coffee and Blonde then all drove up to Sharpitor where we had a very nice time cheering on more lycra clad behinds and caught Mr Blonde Two whizzing past ahead of time.
My calculations suggested that Princetown would be busy and I had plenty of time to get there and see Mr Blonde Two again so I abandoned the truck and had a very pleasant Bimble in along the old railway line. Once in Princetown, I installed myself on a wall at the feeding station and, lo and behold, Mr Blonde Two turned up again.
It was here that the Blonde planning started to go awry. Mr Blonde Two was cycling faster than I expected him to and I had not quite left enough time to rejoin the truck and drive back down to the finish. I considered hitching a lift but, for the sake of exercise, opted to march back along the railway line in attempt to gain time.
I very nearly made it but just missed Mr Blonde Two crossing the finishing line with a very respectable time of 7 hours 59 minutes (this earned him a bronze medal). Pretty impressive, I am sure you will agree.
In the old climbing days (back in the sixties) we operated as a loose knit group hitch hiking up to the Lakes, camping, climbing and beer drinking. There were a number of young ladies of course, who dubiously expressed interest in climbing and they were referred to as camp followers. I suppose you are different – you have already got your man.
I believe that I am the result of a bit of camp following myself!
Time you dropped unglamorous walking, bog-skipping and tussock tripping. If your heart beats at the sight of Lycra you must move over to Lycra-land – extreme rock climbing, E10 and beyond. Men with shaved armpits and buttocks shining like lamp-bulbs. Women restraining their better nature with what are lubriciously known as sports bras. Blond Two’s apotheosis, where you may use big words like me and nobody dare bid you nay.
Why on earth do climbing men need to shave their armpits? Also, I believe it is always a mistake to restrain your better nature. Leads to tension in the long run!
Jolly well done to Mr Blonde 2. Lycra and all. Cor!
P.S. Mr. Roderick, sir, you can’t keep a horse in a lighthouse, Neigh, neigh, neigh.