I caught a wee bit of the Tour de Yorkshire today and event that took place in high winds and cold rain. Judging by the snow atop the distant mountains I suspect the riders met sleet or some snow on their way from Beverley to Settle. These poor blokes must have spent hours in the saddle up hill and down dale keeping to their team leaders orders and hoping at the end it was all worth it.
Slippery wet roads and steep hill climbs do not make for fun cycling and I am glad that such opportunities are unavailable here in the hot and warm sun filled south. (That's satire by the way)
One thing I like about these races is the view behind the riders. As they chase down the breakaway mob at speeds of thirty or forty miles an hour, sweating and gnashing teeth as they climb hills in the lowest gear, I find my eyes wandering to the sights around them. Today we had somewhat bleak Yorkshire moors covered in purple heather and stone walls, hand built, that stretched for miles. On occasion the helicopter above startled sheep who raced across the fields each accompanied by their new born lambs. Strange pot marked fields, small tree lined streams and many stone hump backed bridges that must be a delight to the speeding motorist passed by with the occasional isolated farmhouse looking ideal for a TV adaption of one of the Brontes dark and dismal books.
It crossed my aged mind that these men grappling with the hills ought to slow down and just enjoy the view. Yes I realise that this is their employment and that the desire to prove yourself capable of cycling hundreds of miles over tough conditions is important to young males but in the end the majority finish in what they call the 'Pelaton' and while satisfied in many ways they have missed watching the country around them. These international riders have missed the whole of Europe at one time or another. Head down they have raced through France, Italy, Belgium and Germany never once noting the wildlife or the beauty of their surroundings. OK they get a wage and are able therefore to pay their bills but bus drivers get a wage and they at least can enjoy the scenery!
These races do make me wish I was out on the bike. Hopefully the weather improves over the Long Weekend May Bank Holiday and I might get a trundle around the quiet streets. I will of course require a massage afterwards and any young lass who is free can call.
I stopped off at the museum today to chat with the curator about a question on photographs and met her as she was off out to lunch. That ended that query, to which she has still not emailed the reply, and this left me with the Friday girls gossiping as they usually do. As I was asking important questions of great moment I was instructed to carry three boxes of copy paper to the store. This struck me as interesting as it reveals the harm feminism and the false equality nonsense has brought us to. In 1915 in an effort to aid the war effort Edinburgh women, though most likely these were lassies from Leith, went out of their way to fill the jobs done by men. Here we see such delivering coal to a house and not one of them is demanding a man lifts and carries for them. Today two strapping fit women could not move three boxes as a man was in the vicinity, Tsk! I blame Germain Greer and all those other middle class women (mostly without men) who's daft unrealistic ideas have ruined womanhood.
I wonder if the massage lady could iron some shirts when she is at it...?