My lowest point has got to be the first time I entered a Motorbike Enduro. It was only two laps of a forest near Scarborough but on the first lap I crashed heavily and lost my gear lever in the mud. Did the rest of the race with a pair of grips clamped to the shaft and changed gear with my toes & heel. However, the lowest point was reached when I stalled in the middle of a knee deep bog and trying to push the bike out (which stubbornly refused to re-start) the damn thing fell over onto me, trapping me chest deep and too weak to lift the bike. Just before the tears started to form, I heard the sound of another bike, which was odd as I was sure I was in last place. Turns out I was last, as it was the course marshall doing a sweep. He helped me out of the bog and guided me to safety and I managed to finish but I have never felt so "empty" in my life.
My 15th birthday, mate had me set up supposedly on a promise with a girl from the year above (his girlfriend's mate). We met at her house but before we got there I'd drunk half a bottle of vodka mixed with another half a bottle of orange/pineapple squash.
Bit tipsy on arrival, I figured it would be best to show them who's boss by drinking a pint of Martini
White lounge carpet, so I'm told. And a nice intricate tiled fireplace. 😳
Can't stand the smell of orane & pineapple squash even now
stavromuller - Sounds like the course at Low North Camp. Tried riding across the track many years ago and only got about 5 yards before clay/mud blocked everything.
Wish I had stories like some of these. A couple have had me properly snorting in the office.
Soooo many to choose from, all alcohol related....
One of the best has to be meeting a housemate's parents for the first time. A really nice couple and the mother was a great cook too, so I was looking forward to the meal. The father had a reputation for liking a drink and, back then, so did I, mostly rum. As I arrived at the house (with flowers for the mother and a bottle of wine for the meal) I got asked if I would like a pre-dinner sharpener, which got extended to a couple of rum and cokes. That progressed to red with the meal (a lovely game dish) and port with the cheese.
Now, the meal finishes and I'm feeling fine. Full, but fine. Coffee is touted and I have to be up before high tide the next morning (that's a 0530) to do some photography, so I'm happy to take some on board. We all decamp to the lounge to the comfy chairs and I notice some Ella Fitzgerald int he CD collection. Halfway through the second song or something, I start getting 'that feeling' and ask for directions to the toilet. I nearly make it. So close.
My housemate found me kneeling over the bowl looking appalling with the near miss (red wine and port on a white carpet) around my knees. I was so ashamed, but the worst part was the mother cheerfully saying "Never mind about that, but you should never try and keep up with James!" as I felt wretched.
I went back the next day with more flowers to say sorry.
This resulted in kick catching a young lass with dwarfism in the side of the head and knocking her off her feet.
Winner.
Can't compete with some of the hilariously shameful stories here, but I can offer freshness with the tale of my road ride yesterday.
Headed out for a two-hour hill-fest and things start off pretty well, it's not as rainy as forecast and I'm feeling pretty strong.
However on the way down the final real hill of the day I'm dismayed to hear a pssss noise and realise the rear tyre is going down. I'm pretty angry about this because it's another Lifeline tube from Wiggle - the last one of which had revealed itself to be defective when I tried to use it on Saturday - on top of Winter Hill in the freezing cloud (but that's another story involving a £20 taxi ride home).
Never mind, I'm quick at changing tubes and I know my spare is a good old cheng shin so all should be well. Except it's not, and the spare is leaking (despite having tested it). Oh and in my rush to get out I'd forgotten my resolution to take two spares on future winter rides.
So there I am in a lonely back lane at dusk with the temperature dropping and it's started raining. My wife can't come and get me and the bike in her little car and the local taxi firm isn't picking up.
Eventually I decide to hide my bike in a thicket of trees and she comes for me with the kids in the car - though now the enormous pork sandwich I had at lunch is making my guts twitch and I realise I won't be able to last. I waddle off back into the thicket, take off my top and jacket to remove the shoulder straps of my bibs and squat down behind a tree to unleash the full fury of my bowels onto the unsuspecting undergrowth.
It's a really quiet road so I wasn't too worried about being disturbed, but oh, what's this? A car's driving past as I'm mid-movement, and it's slowing down to see what's going on. I'll just move further behind this tree and pretend it isn't happening.
Fortunately it didn't hang about, but unlike on MTB rides I don't pack any bog roll for my road jaunts, so had to resort to wiping my arse with handfuls of handily located ferns (which was not an unpleasant sensation if I'm honest and seemed to do the job as well as the Andrex).
Waddling back out to the junction with the main road (in cleated shoes of course), I then had to wait a further 15 minutes as my teeth started to chatter and observed that the road was surprisingly busy with rush-hour traffic. A few vehicles slow down to gawp at the cyclist without a bike, but nobody stops to ask if I'm OK - possibly out of fear.
My wife's been traumatised driving down the narrow country lanes in the dark so I have to handle the return journey still wearing my cleated shoes - and then to top it all off I get home to discover a big grease mark on the front of my Rapha waterproof jacket - which is the most expensive item of clothing (cycling or otherwise) that I have ever owned.
Hopefully that'll be the lowest point this week, I'll report back if not.
^ that last one had me s****ing 😆
you [b][i]did[/i][/b] pull the shorts back up ? I mean, that and a big stripe'o'shite down your jacket would put me off TBHA few vehicles slow down to gawp at the cyclist without a bike, but nobody stops to ask if I'm OK - possibly out of fear.
Had to do a wild poo on the way to the FoD once and wipe my arse with my spare change of socks 🙁
That does remind me of mine, from the charming 'ever shat yourself in public' thread a while back.
Years ago I went through a brief phase of urgently needing to 'release the hounds' when out rock-climbing. Must've been a nervous thing. Normally I could sense the problem building and make the necessary arrangements, on a couple of occasions having to lower off the route and leg it into the woods.However, one time myself and the missus were climbing a bolted route in France when the 'appel d'urgence' arrived. There was no question of retreat, so rather than despoil all the crucial handholds on the route, I swung off leftwards on the rope into a vegetated gully, undid my leg loops and delivered the coup de grace out of sight.
Or so I thought. Although my long-suffering wife was spared that view, by moving left I was left in full sight of a minibus-full of French schoolkids who had just arrived in the car park for their afternoon climbing lesson.
good friend of my wifes was coming home from the weekly shop, with her young lad in tow, and he'd been a bit of a whinebag all afternoon. Her house is a lovely big sandstone semi, but had been surrounded by new build lego houses in previous years, meaning she didn't have car access into the house and had a 50 yard walk with shopping and our young hero.
He had been moaning that he was desperate for a pee all the way home, and as she's got armfuls of shopping at the door, and trying to get keys from her pocket, she tells him to pee in the bushes in the garden. He was only 4 or 5 at the time.
She opens the door, gets into the kitchen and dumps the shopping bags etc. As she goes back out to the garden, our young hero runs back in shouting that he needed toilet paper as the number one had turned into a number two.
She runs out into the garden, just in time to see Scoobie, the family golden retriever, wander away from the spot in question, licking his lips with a look of contentment on his face.
She was mortified telling me the story!
The Night With The Cats
Went over to see an ex of mine. Ended up in bed together for old time's sake, but she decided she didn't really want to sleep the night together, it'd be weird. Fair enough, so off to the spare room. "Remember to shut the door, or the cats will get in", she says, with great importance. I'm in a pretty happy warm place so yeah yeah, cats, something...
Wake up in the middle of the night to a cat walking over me. It comes and snuggles up beside me. I think, aw, how sweet... Night night cat. Fall asleep again
Wake up again, feeling a bit breathless- fat cat sat on my chest, another's climbed under the duvet and is snuggled up to my balls. No bother, I'll just get them off... Now I remember these cats from when they were kittens so I've never really corrected my mindset for them all being murderous fiends the size of lions. Til now anyway, try and move and HISSSSS. Chestcat stands up and starts eyeballing me. OK, show them who's boss, I just decide to get up. It turns out, with just the[i] slightest[/i] deployment of claws, that Ballcat is boss.
OK, no worries, I didn't want to get up anyway. Lie back down. [i]Nice[/i] Ballcat, we're all friends here. Lie in slightly asphyxiated terror for about an hour, knowing that something will break the detente.
A new player arrives. Lets call him, for the sake of argument, Facecat. Facecat knows exactly what he wants, and that's to stamp on a human face forever- not content to just lie on my head he does that stomping around in circles thing cats do before settling down. Ballcat'll be asleep by now though so it's fine, I'll just throw them all off. Ballcat is not asleep. All I manage to do, at the expense of minor clawmarks, is turn so that Facecat ends up on the side of my head instead of actually killing me.
TS Elliot got it right when he said naming cats is a difficult matter. I don't know all of Chestcat's 3 names but I know the second one, because just at the last possible minute, just before the cats finally got bored of their toy and moved on to torture some other pathetic little animal, she revealed she's also Pisscat. Cats are hygenic animals, so I'm pretty sure she didn't get any on herself...
So in the morning I was glad that there was never any chance of getting together with my ex in the first place.
Brilliant!
Fitted bucket seats to an old Capri but neglected to fully tighten the front bolts.
This became apparent a week later when I tried to power off the line at the lights.
Seat tipped back, car eventually stalled in the middle of the lights.
I had to open the door & crawl out onto the road.
My first car, a Hillman Avenger, failed its MOT due to chassis rust.
As I filled the chassis with newspaper & smoothed the body filler over, I was convinced this would suffice; & the MOT tester would be fooled.
Fast forward to crowded garage reception area, & smirking mechanics.
"Had that thing long lad...?"
"About a year, why ?"
"Its failed, chassis is rotten. Someone's filled it with newspaper".
"Must have been the last owner"
Aforementioned Newspaper is presented on to counter.
"He must have had a bloody time machine then, this is last Thursdays Mirror".
Travelling between Guatemala and El Salvador in 2011 in a minibus I had a bout of the explosive guts. Eventually, my devil-like grip was slipping and I asked the driver to stop so I could commune with nature (every spare bit of Guatemala is farmed by meticulous peasants). So, I had to find a bit of ground where I wasn't festooning a local's vegetables. Then I realised the force of expulsion was likely to leave me with spattered clothes with which to get back in the (hot and crowded) van. I had to get butt-naked and hang my clothes on trees to avoid the bugs without emitting so much as a squeak. I then released a stormy torrent and was lucky enough to get back in the van smelling like roses and was reassured that 'not much' could be seen through the windows. A humbling experience.