Noooo! A tear. A bloody tear. You can see it can’t you? Yes, it’s tiny but, nonetheless – it’s a tear. Built to last a lifetime, then first, it gets soaked and inflated like a giant bloody Portobello mushroom. Give it love and intensive care and it just about recovers…. and now this. This! Can’t even lean a bike carefully on a wall. Curses! CURSES!
Rubbish isn’t it? I’ve become a picky aesthete and precious about a bloody saddle. I need to get a grip. That’s the funny thing about cycling. Once you fall head over heels for the look, feel – and in this case – smell of a cherished item, you are slave to its very existence. Every nick or ding is felt like a pin through the heart of a voodoo doll. Mountain bike? For bashing. Cross bike? For thrashing. Brooks saddle? Thing of beauty and much loved item of cycling folklore. Perhaps I’ve overstated the importance of this. Maybe I need to get out more. I know! On one of those Mercian’s. They’re nice……been around eons……Part of cycling history they are……Made in the Peaks……look at those lines…….oh yes……
(“When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide/Where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride/Till I get to the bottom and I see you again/yeah/yeah/yeah/ – Lennon-McCartney)
For good tips on repairing tiny, almost insignificant little marks on a Brooks saddle, feel free to populate the comments section below. No need for a advice on perspective. I know it’s all out of kilter (I’ve seen that bit in Airplane).