Or it could read 'Pick it up and run' just like the title of my blog.
I'll keep it brief.
Basically after staying within spitting distance of Rob for ages I came to grief 51 minutes in. I must have already picked up a puncture, but it didn't show it's face until I tried to turn at the bottom of a steep drop in. The tyre took it's leave and I went over the bars.
I looked at my watch, I'd been racing for 51 minutes...bollocks.
But then I thought no bollocks to the bollocks I'm no skinny jey boy racer and remembered those immortal words PICK IT UP AND RUN and that's what I did. Over the shoulder the bike went and I ran to the bell lap. Just one more lap to go. As I neared the end I tried to ride with no front tyre. I managed to get up and over the bomb shelters, but corners were impossible. That last lap took 17 minutes, just long enough for Stuart to come past and take the first club rider home. Then came Rob and then myself a lap down, but not last even though I was the only man running.
Proper double hard old bastard