After cobbling together enough gumption and bits to get The Trisockyle operational again, it was back onto the mean streets of Nottinghamshire to try and complete an event free journey.

With the chain only coming off the once things were going well, no more breakdowns mechanical nor mental – London here we come.

12 miles in, First Officer Greasley decided things were going too well, and decided to have a front tyre failure and a blowout catapulted us into the tarmac.

The long list of injured body parts was not restricted to, but included ankles, knees, elbow, love handles and shoulders. A couple cycling in the opposite direction came around the corner a few minutes later, and were greeted by a scene that resembled the opening scenes of Saving Private Ryan.

The Trisockyle was picked out of the hedge bottom and the wounded limped back to The Sock Mine to take stock, feel sorry for ourselves, clean up the many injuries and look forward to the frosty receptions from the respective good lady wives. We could then add sore ears to the injury list.

It’s a close call who is in the more sorry state, the bike or monkeys that were riding it. But on a lighter note, another money raising opportunity has presented itself. Anyone want to sponsor the bandages?