Couch Watch

J.R reporting for blog duty. Bloody hell! A huge breakfast blow out. Was about to make a cup a tea and guess what? Nothing but a snivelling little dribble of milk left at the bottom of the carton. This could only mean one thing, haha, yeah, just another excuse to mount Marlon, my trusty stead and head to the local 7/11. Now I’ve said this before but I never head off on ANY journey without performing the necessary rites and adorning myself in the correct cycling kit. Needless to say I hurriedly put on my tracksuit. Doyle, my sacred wolfs pelt was quickly donned, Wolf’s Bane was clipped into position on the seat tube and incantations were thrice chanted at the suns fiery orb. My vision was somewhat blurred and I had to swerve suddenly almost ploughing straight into a parked car. After this near miss it was plain sailing. I drew up to the 7/11, dismounted Marlon and kicked his cycle stand down. I glanced through the window of the 7/11 and was pleased to see it fully stocked of milky goodness. But then something in the reflection of the window caught my eye, my first impression was of a kind of bone white skeletal looking frame with two haggard rubber tires attached. I looked away to the source of the reflection and saw this:

It was the poor sorry little mount that I had seen only weeks before abandoned by its master to the icy grips of a midwinter’ s blizzard. And there he was, the presumptuous little cycle lord himself Alasdair Couch sauntering down the road with a shopping bag in hand heading towards his sorry little beat up stead. I couldn’t believe it. I had finally got a glimpse of this allusive creature. He strode confidently towards his weak and abused mount. He seemed to notice someone looking at him and slowly turned his wicked crabby face in my direction. For a short instant our eyes met and he flashed an evil shrivelled smile at me.

A sudden bolt of fury struck me in an instant. My ears were ringing my eyes rolling as I tried to compose myself putting a hand on Marlon’s sturdy frame. My legs had turned to jelly and my insides where in knots. I felt myself tumble forward and I crumpled up wrenching into the sidewalk, “arrrrughhhhhh!” I couldn’t move. What the hell was wrong with me, the giant of cycling, the Warrior of the routes, Jason Randall lying pathetic and powerless on the sidewalk in a face full of vomit. I still had my wits my mind was commanding me to take Wolf’s Bane and cross the street to deliver justice to that fell scoundrel but I was paralysed.

I was so ashamed, The Kid would have spat on this contemptuous display in disgust. With all my energy I tried to raise my head and then I saw him, hovering over me.

Through rays of sunlight his spirit looked on.

“Jason, beware! The COW is not all that he seems, he’s not just some annoying little upstart bicycle hobbyist, preaching childish cycle nonsense on an internet blog, he is in possession of dark arts, he is in possession of something very monstrous and powerful. He has knowledge of an arcane school of black magic. Approach him with caution at all times. You must learn more about him before you can truly defeat him. You and Chester must bring back The Gang, you must once more find Pat Wigan, Brian Barry and Sandy Turnpike. Your leadership of the gang has slacked, there are new and dangerous forces on the cycle routes, they seek to destroy everything we hold dear. Do you hear me Jason? Do you understand? Do you fucking understand? And Jason remember… always pedal 100% and safety first.”

I nodded pathetically as a chunk of yesterday’s carrot soup slid down my chin. I could feel my senses returning as The Kid gently evaporated into the blue sky overhead. Instinctively I looked to where that horrible devil had dared smile at me only a moment before. He was gone. There was nothing there, it was if he had never been there at all.

At this point the owner of the 7/11 had come out, he was berating me in the local tongue about the mess I had made. An old lady stared on with disdain. The owner was holding a mop and bucket. Some local school girls were laughing even Marlon seemed to find the whole scene amusing.

After clearing up the mess it was made plain to me that I wouldn’t be welcome again in this particular 7/11 and so Marlon and I had to range further a field for that milky goodness.

Back at the lair I sat musing over a hot cup of tea. The gang must be brought back together and Alasdair Couch must pay. Dearly.