Date: Tuesday 18th March 2014
Route: WP, Grumpy Granny, Dwarf's Run, Double Waters, Grenofen Bridge, Gen Bridge, Grumpier Granny, HQ.
Riders: Martyn, Keith, Jude, James, Gary, Dan and Gidon
Depart WP: 19:40
Arrive HQ: 21:55
Distance: 10 miles
Weather: Very good

Dear Clare,

I wonder if you can help with a problem that is getting me down.

I've been riding my mountain bicycle with a bunch of chaps now for about three years. This week seven of us met at our usual haunt - Colin's gate and set off towards the cycle track. The leader, we'll call him Sam, immediately tried to kill us all by charging in front of a car and expecting us to follow. Luckily, I was alert enough to avoid this. No sooner had we made it across the road than the President, we'll call him Keith, Threw himself off his bike. I know what you're thinking. Dangerous. Believe me, it gets worse.

Once we had gathered together again, we charged down a root striven path ignoring the tarmac to either side of us. Health and safety nightmare! I'm all for a bit of excitement (I once watched ITV in my vest) but this was ridiculous. By hanging on grimly, I made it to the bottom of the hill where we then ignored another nice surfaced track. Instead, we threw ourselves into a nearby copse. There were twigs everywhere. One nearly had my eye out! Eventually we were led onto the open moor of Longash where wild animals roam. I mean, would you walk through a lion's enclosure? Of course not. But apparently cycling past a hungry sheep is fine. I think it was only our garish clothing that surprised the animals long enough to let us escape.

Having avoided the gnashing teeth, Sam and his henchman Gary (name changed), took us across the side of a precipitous slope. They called this the Dwarf's Run. Not very PC. This seemed to consist of a drop into a black abyss, with only trees to break your fall. Then one rider, known locally as James, suffered a severe puncture. The poor soul was so traumatised he could barely get the tyre on and off and the fear caused him to slip and lacerate his finger. I wouldn't be surprised if it turns gangrenous.

Much of the same followed until we arrived at a God-forsaken spot called Doublewaters. We then had to cross a raging torrent on a bridge that looked a thousand years old. I truly feared for my life. We then travelled, inches from the river, through a wasteland of rocks, roots, puddles and mud for a couple of miles. At last we ended up at a lovely surfaced track. I was shocked to find we then travelled along it for a good 15 mins. Of course, the reason for this was so we could get back into the woods and try and kill ourselves again a bit quicker! I almost came a cropper, only managing to prevent myself falling by grasping the crossbar between my groin and left testicle.

Not content with this, once arrived back at the pub, there followed a ceremony of drinking and eating fried potato products. Another health scandal!

What should I do Clare? I obviously enjoy riding my bike and love the feel of close fitting lycra but I am terrified most Tuesday nights. Should I become a full-time roadie?

From The Wonky Peddler