Performers on Portobello Beach near Edinburgh.
The return leg of the Depecker’s first commute was going very promisingly until I got to Deptford Creek, when the chain fell off.
That was easily fixed, but as I passed Trinity Hospital on the Thames Path there was a god-almighty crashing noise and the rear wheel locked up. The chain had fallen off into the space between the derailleur and the spokes and bits of derailleur were on the pavement.
I’m no professional, so I may be wrong, but I took that to be a bad omen.
The nice thing is, I was only a couple of hundred yards from home, so I carried the bike the rest of the way.
But there’s no chance of me sorting it out before Eroica on Friday, so I’m going to try and rent an Eroica bike.
The other good thing is, it’s better for it to fall apart after 7.3 miles of a 7.5-mile commute and carry it the rest of the way, than after 7.5 miles of a 55-mile ride, and carry it the rest of the way.
The chain only fell off once. Rear brake a bit squeaky.
Context: I’m supposed to be riding 55 miles on it at L’Eroica Britannia this weekend. This is the furthest I’ve ridden it since stripping it down and rebuilding it. Bit surprised that the chain was the only thing that fell off.
In L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue the ducks paddle around on the beautiful stream oblivious to their ancestor’s place in photographic history.
This is my duck:
This is Cartier-Bresson’s duck, going in the other direction:
Possibly the only good photograph of a duck in the whole history of photography and ducks …and that’s because he took it at the duckisive moment.