Today's cycle

Yesterday's cycle actually.

As mentioned elsewhere, we did 31 miles on the bikes up and back a side valley of the Meuse, the Semoy, to the Belgian border.

It was supposed to be an old railway track all the way; well good luck to the  train that attempted the long stretches of 25% and 18% respectively.

On the way back, we got flagged down by two young French lads, maybe 12yo, who I at first thought had got bike trouble, until I realised that one was only just holding back the tears.

The track was gravel at that point, and his knee was an absolute mess (gravel rash) with blood running down his leg. He asked if we could help, so I washed him off by squirting the water bottle at his knee, then remembered  I had put some kitchen towel in the panier (handy for cleaning up if/when the chain comes off) so managed to get him rather better cleaned up.

He settled down a bit then, and when asked, his friend said it wasn't far home, and they both thanked me very nicely in English.

Looking at his knee, though, I still suspect someone at home was going to be picking gravel out of it for some time.

That was good of you, and of course something you would hope that especially anyone who has been a parent, would try to do for an injured child.

About 30 years ago, I used to live in Bath, but some of my friends lived in Bristol. The old railway line between the cities had been converted into a cycle track, mostly gravel in those days, but I believe it's somewhat posher now. Anyway, I got into the occasional habit of cycling to Bristol for a night out. This was fine and worked well until one night on the way back, a combination of being pretty much leathered, a misplaced sense of invulnerability and having forgotten my bike lights, an old railway tunnel with no light at all, and a gravel track through it to negotiate, did not end well...

The first mishap was side swiping the tunnel wall with my left elbow causing me to steer away from it only to repeat the exercise on the other side of the tunnel with my right elbow. For some reason, I decided to accelerate out of this situation. Some obstacle or other tipped me over the bars. I slithered to a halt using the gravel for brakes, and came to rest in the pitch black with no idea where my bike was. I became aware that this was a bit of a problem, and that what was running down my forehead probably wasn't sweat.

A flash of drunken inspiration caused me to remember that I had a cigarette lighter, and from its flicker I managed to find the bike and for reasons I still can't explain, attempted to ride the bike to the end of the tunnel by its meagre light. It became very much hotter the longer it was lit and began to melt my fingers, but the alternative of repeating the crash prevented me from doing without its help.

Eventually, I reached the end of the tunnel, only to realise to my further chagrin, that in the confusion, I'd gone back the wrong way, and now needed to back through the thing to get home.

At this point, I noticed that my jeans were in tatters and that my legs were peppered with lumps of embedded gravel.

The night didn't improve.

Good work, Vić! All that cycling must have burned off at least 5% of the calorific value of the crumble.

A return, for one day only, to Brompton travel in rush hour London.

Got myself involved with a project about how Citizens Advice run the 'Adviceline' telephone service. As a result yesterday I needed to attend a seminar at their London HQ at 200 Aldersgate close to Museum of London and closer to where my path and WDB's almost crossed last month.

Quickly discarded any option involving public transport after Euston. As I've recently started leaving the car on a town edge park and ride and cycling the last mile and a half to the office the Brompton was already primed and ready to go. Left car at park/ride again, saving CA best part of £10 for parking and was comfortably on train just after 8. Our trains are a mix of suburban (5 abreast seating) and long distance (4 abreast) of which latter are much more comfortable. Back four were long distance and as usual lots of punters miss fact that there are 12 standard class seats, mostly with tables, in the otherwise 1st class coach B. Plenty of space for the bike behind me without leaving it in the vestibule where grab and run theft is a risk.

Once in London I used my old commute route mostly along 'quietways' to Chancery Lane then onto Holborn until a left turn by the remains of Christchurch Greyfriars took me more or less to the door of my destination. Return was supposed to be a version of Haynes Manual style re-assembly is reverse of dismantling but somehow ended up heading for Stratford. Managed to correct that OK and was back at Euston just before 5. Only hint of a close call was a taxi in City who took umbridge at my use of an advanced stop box and tried to 'undertake' while turning right. Let him go first with a muttered 'effin hell mate' and we went on our way.

Lucky again with formation of 17:13 and had comfortable ride home with a copy of The Standard and my MP3 for company.

Wouldn't want to go back to doing it daily but not bad for a day out.

Rear brakes failed on the way back. Hydraulic discs I've never been entirely happy with from new.

Complete loss of pressure (the fronts aren't great either)

No sign of anything wrong, so now I've got to find a bleedin' German bike shop to bleedin' bleed them.

Give me cables every time - I carry enough tools to DIY.

I know (slightly better than roughly) how to do it, but it is impossible without some kit, and much easier with a full set.

As I say, I haven't been entirely convinced from day 1, and am now pretty sure they were never properly bled.

Odd thing is, they were working and then immediately they weren't. Apparently not uncommon, and due to the air in the lines moving about. At least we were almost back.

Last bike had hydraulic as well, but rim brakes. I liked those!

Identified a bike shop to try early tomorrow morning (Sunday doesn't figure in the German shopping calendar)