The bike's brakes squeaked in complaint from being pulled rather suddenly and rudely from its retirement, and the chain chattered and clanked as it struggled to find its gears as I pedalled up the road.
So far, so good, I thought to myself.
I crossed the road down to a familiar track.
It was just then I realised the lack of front suspension.
I rattled down the rocky and uneven path, helmet knocking against my skull and my brain jangling. Thankfully, I soon emerged on to smooth, asphalt terrain, and free-wheeled down a seemingly endless hill.
This was much better.
I pedalled down a narrow path that cut through a field. It became more and more overgrown, the available space narrowing until I was crunching my way through a veritable jungle of nettles and various other spiky things. I came to a sudden stop next to a quite closed off gate.
Feck! They couldn't of told me it was closed before I came all the way down here, could they?
Swearing to myself, I hoisted my bike around and trudged back the way I had just come.
I grumbled my way up the free-wheel I had just done, and cut into a beautiful field of golden corn. It was then I realised my shoes and socks covered in tiny little burs, just like baubles on a Christmas tree, not to mention all the stinging cuts from the tiny path.
Readjusting my stance, I pedaled up a grassy hill, only to find another grassy hill. And another grassy hill. And another grassy hill.
The countryside has a knack of doing that, doesn't it?
I came across a metal gate, adorned with barbed wire. I'm really stuck now, I thought.
After spending a good long time looking for a way past and bitterly pondering what PS3 game I would have my jaws into by now and why this was such a great idea anyway, I realised that it was a simple of opening the hatch and swinging the gate open.
Thanking my instinct and with a maddened, sweaty maniac smile on my face, I closed the gate behind me and was just about to throw myself to the ground when a voice rang out.
"You do know where the public footpaths are?"
The tone was kind, but a little moist with sarcasm.
I turned to find a jogger, leaning against the gate I had just closed.
"Why, I suppose I don't!" I spluttered, rocking a little on my heels, eyes wide, grinning at the man.
He sent me the correct way, his eyes saying it all, 'You poor, lost, bugger.'
I thanked the man, and as he jogged off he called "Enjoy yourself!"
"Yeah!!" I replied, staring at the back of his head, chuckling to myself.
I stood for a while, regained where I was, took a drink and hacked through the long grass in a generally correct direction.
After a little while of blundering around fields and shuddering down ridiculously bumpy paths, I came across a blissfully tarmaced road. Unfortunatley, the supposedly correct direction was uphill. I gripped the side handle bars and, doing my best Lance Armstrong impression, powered my way up.
Feeling rather proud of myself, I reached the the end of the road. Only to find I was where I had begun.
Once again maddened, I smashed my bike through one of those stupid openstepinshimmyaroundthegateclosethegatestepout gates and pedalled through a handfull of sunlit fields, the church bells ringing mockingly in my ears. 'SillyBastard!SillyBastard!'. The Crickets clicked away in the grass, 'HaHaHa!ISoundLikeYourWheels!ClickClickClickyClick!HaHa!'. I had absolutley no idea where I was.
At last I entered a new field, one that I recognised! It was the hill where I had nearly killed myself in the January snowfall on a peice of tarpaulin.
I slumped to the floor, and as I tucked into a malformed Kit-Kat, I thought how we are lucky to have fields to get lost in, paths to get yourself horrifically cut, and sun draped vistas to flip off as you drag your bicicle past.
I put my bum back on the seat, and kicked off back home.
I was weary, I had been stung, acosted by dogs and their smirking owners and rattled by rutted paths.
And I can't wait to go again.
Lucjan 'on yer bike' Kaliniecki
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