Several years ago, we were driving back home from a shopping trip and crossing the Grand Union Canal which runs close to our house. As we crested the hump-back bridge over the canal, we were surprised to see a grey VW Golf in the canal attended by some rescue services. We were even more surprised when the car turned out to belong to my dear mother. (She was fine, just her pride was hurt.)
Today, we decided to cycle along the canal towpath, now part of national cycle network route 6, to visit our optician friend to arrange a dinner date while we are in the country. Everything was going swimmingly until, nearing Bletchley, I heard a tinkling sound just behind my bike. Fearing that I had dropped something, I stole a rearward glance. My momentary lapse of concentration caused me to put my front wheel in a hard-edged rut beside the tow path. The hard-edged rut, in turn, me to swerve slightly sideways. Splosh! Now everything really was going swimmingly. 600+ miles in France without mishap and now, this.
Fortunately, I didn’t need the emergency services and, having hauled myself back onto the bank, I managed to recover my own bicycle. Nothing other than pride was damaged. The tinkling sound that led to my distraction turned out to have been nothing more than a flattened coke can over which I had ridden.
Also fortunately, no cameras were present to record my inauspicious dive. Carol, being a little way behind me, didn’t actually witness my dive so a camera would have been useless.
It took her some time to stop laughing, however. 🙂