The key to coaching.....and the northern gravy tribe

The Tour de Force has been an era for me, a self-consuming time zone, what with chasing after sponsors, then months of putting in longest-ever training rides every Tuesday, and then the event for real.

No surprise then that I’d put the rest of the year, well rest of my life, into a pot marked “Forget It”.

Jonny Wates has just fired over a neat summary which says that the money raised has inched even further ahead and now stands at £350,000. Wow.

A total of 98 riders all did their bit. There were some nasty tumbles (I avoided them) and some sore backsides (but I didn’t escape that).

At the end of the day, the charity’s “bold” target of raising £100,000 has been more than trebled. Mr Wates-with-Broad-Smile is happy. He says: “We can do great things to help disadvantaged young people with that amount of money”. I’m just pleased that you people out there all helped me to do my bit

But then, but now, but suddenly..….the lid’s been forced off and the non-future is here. Time to step out.

The going-forward mode was triggered by a phone call last night. “Will you come and do a coaching day for us in October,” asked Janet from Twickenham. “You remember, we met at Newport velodrome.” When is it? It’s the weekend after my last race of the year…so yes. In fact I felt a bit honoured.

It will be at Hillingdon on a fully-enclosed, car-free circuit. I staged an event there myself once but I fell foul of the anti-brigand devices and snapped the key in the lock. I felt a right burk. It was so difficult to fit your hand through all the struts and bars. I vowed never to get caught again. The deal is that Janet opens the gates.

“And will you do a follow-up a month later, so we can advertise it in advance?” That sounds like a good idea, so I’m “yes” to that also.

So we’re now talking November. Way ahead but I’m on the phone to Mrs Kench. Yes - the hall is booked….all we need now is good weather.

I’ve got the slot right next to a booking made 18 months ago, no less, and it’s for a guy who wants to celebrate his 80th birthday with his mates. Well he’s survived, he’s still alive and kicking. I sort of feel I might offer to pay his fee as well, in a sort of “well done” gesture. Or give him some pots of myrtle jam.

No race for me this coming weekend. Well there is a race, but I’ve been pulled out as it’s the christening.

Little grand-daughter Beth is a few months old by now and I’ve made her smile some bits, and I’ve fed her a few spoons-full of pear, sweet and much-mangled, that was donated by a friendly neighbourly soul, and she’s getting handy at tugging on my nice little Chinese beard, or tuft, or whatever else it get called. So I’m mighty chuffed with all that.

I’ve been asked to be the photographer. That’s quite an honour.

I thought giving a tiny tot like Beth some pear puree was natural progress from a from-birth, all-milk diet. But…..our lot up north don’t think that way and every time the Huddersfield brigade come on the phone it’s always the same question….

“’Ows Beth? As ta got ’er on t’ gravy yet?”

Gravy! Can you believe….gravy. So I picture/dread them all rolling up on Sunday in a sweat, wheels all steaming hot from a car scrimmage all down the M1, all armed to the teeth with…… bowls of gravy.

Thick gravy. Thin gravy. Mutton gravy. Poor child.

I picture/dread them crowding round, all leaning over and starting up a chant:

“Cum on lass, sup it up. Mak thi grow.”

Enjoy the day - more later