The Return of Thunder Thighs!

I'll explain the title now then shall I?

When I first got my bike last spring and discovered that despite a lifetime of embarrassingly poor athletic performance that I could actually go some distance on it, I jokingly nicknamed myself Thunder Thighs. I don't particularly care that it is a silly name and that nicknaming yourself is within the realm of D+D dweebs and Paul in middle management, I'd never exercised without a crowd of giggling pointers before. So I celebrated childishly. It's what I do.

So it was with particular glee that I set out on the first big(ish) ride of the year on Saturday and found Thunder Thighs alive and well.

Me and Aimee set off from her house in Walsall and rode over to Sutton Coldfield's lovely park. Including a meander in the park and the trip back we managed eighteen and a bit miles. The roads were a fair test with endless undulations and the odd decent climb thrown in for good measure. I won't lie, I seemed to need to breathe more than usual and my legs did whinge, but it felt good.

I am being a little casual here, I am most certainly not as fit as I was. The summer saw me riding between twenty and thirty miles a day through the Lancashire hills, and I celebrated that stint childishly by going to the beach albeit via the width of England. That tarmac munching version of Thunder Thighs is long gone. But on Saturday he assured me he'd be back very soon.

I really enjoyed Aimee's company on the road, despite her self professed bad moods. It's a pleasure to see her determination, and I love having her to share the experience with. We had little races and bickered. I loved every moment of it.

This ride also reassured my motives for the whole trip too. The main bulk of the planning so far has been done as a distraction from these cold winter days. But being back on an unfamiliar road, and seeing Sutton Park Model Aero Club's finest dip and soar above us, I reminded myself of why I'm doing this:

To see our Island and the wonderful people within.
By this summer they will be paid a momentous visit.... from Thunder Thighs!


P.s. On the way home to Manchester I solved a mystery that has been bugging me for years, namely the location of the Quiet Zone on a train?

It is most definitely not in the carriage labeled "Quiet Zone". That carriage is populated by mobile phone ringtones, rubbish music from leaky headphones and a singular screaming baby whose mother obtusely observes silence like a nun.

It is in fact in the bicycle storage. By the time I had my bike secured the train was moving and I was overcome. Not a drop of noise made it's way to me from the carriages around me. The only sound was that of my bike which knocked like clockwork on the sides of it's compartment. It lulled me in to a state of deep happiness. I plonked myself on the floor with my book and had the nicest train ride in years.