It's funny how these things go. You move house and, while packing up the long, (in my case at least), history of your life, you come across things that take you back to happier/sadder/more exciting times; delete as appropriate. I moved house recently and took hold of that bag of 90's photos and shook it until it gave up all its contents. Family, places, events, the usual stuff. But oddly no pictures of me and my passion for bikes. How bizarre and strangely disturbing.
I thought bikes would be everywhere through the 90's as it was in 1990 that my passion really took hold after my very first mountain bike ride with a great friend of mine Kev. I was violently sick at the top of the first, very small, hill and spent the rest of the time looking like a ghost. But I was hooked and have spent the subsequent years living, breathing and riding bikes. So why no pictures?
The other day, Chris, the warehouse foreman came in brandishing a photograph. Of me, on a bike. It was the very first Enduro 6, s
ponsored at the time by Karrimor. For me it was a great event as I won the race...for 62nd place. But the photo made me think. It's from maybe two thirds the way into the race, I had a crash that put the number board off centre, I'd forgotten about that, but I'm still smiling. And that's probably why there's no photos in my bag of 90's memories; I was actually out riding. Some might see this lack of pictures as a bad thing but in reality it's a good thing, as my memories of those rides and races just get better the older I get.
BTW
, I've lost weight since the photo was taken and I don't wear pink socks any more.
