nunoncastors

The Shadow insisted, given that it was a rare and sunny evening, that we imbibe beer by the river.

And so we did.

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I also took some crappy photos because why the hell not?

The first forty miles had gone by speedily and well. Bacon had happened, the weather had held and our luxurious steeds were doing sterling work. Then, suddenly and without warning, the sky itself struck us square in the face with all of the water in Lincolnshire. We struggled manfully and we struggled mightily, yet we were undone. Clearly our shining brilliance had offended the gods with its majesty and there was but one retort – hide in a hedge until it the evil sky relented.

But yea, though we did cower from the power of the elements, we did so lustily and with great vigour. For despite the encroaching moistness of our parts we did smile and have two beers and a sandwich before giggling our way onwards through the monsoon. Giggling like men, mark you.

It was wet, is what I’m saying. Really, really wet.  But fun.

Eighty-five miles from Nottingham to Skegness might seem a long way but, in truth, the ride is a piece of piss. Even detouring to deliberately include what pass for hills in the region doesn’t add any real strain to the ride. The main obstacle to the trip, as Ian correctly pointed out, is a mental one. Get past that and you’re golden.

And, while it was an uncomfortably wet day at times, there is something incredibly compelling about watching a thunderhead roll across the Lincolnshire fens, crackling with lightning. At least, right up until the point where it is directly above you and making you sad there is. Beyond that it’s just unpleasant.

Speaking of unpleasant.

I jest. That’s a sea rainbow, by the way.

A wild sea rainbow. I chose, Ooooh! It was super effective.

And this is Skegness.

The pictures are out of focus because if you saw what it looked like in detail, you’d claw out your eyes.