Pre-ride ramblings...

Strange dreams last night. Vivid but strange. One involved being in a house with a man, a sort of slightly overweight man, an American with short hair, not quite a crop, more woolly, a strange honey colour, but a nice guy all the same. I was going somewhere, I don't know or recall exactly where, but somewhere important to him, something linked to the military, possibly the air force. He gave me what I initially thought was an old flag, but it could have been a raggedy old tee-shirt as I swear it had flimsy short sleeves. It might have been made of cheesecloth or something similar, although I remember him denying it was a tee-shirt. It mattered not, but apparently whenever I reached my destination I should seek something out, what I don't know, but it would all make sense. Except that wherever it was I never made it or had no intention of going there. The next thing I knew I was on some kind of outward bound adventure with some work colleagues. We stood in a damp car park waiting for the doors to a car to be unlocked. It was one of those small cars with some kind of 4x4 ability and it was muddy and unkempt. Inside there were three seats from one side to the other and naturally I didn't want the middle seat. Two people were already inside and, unfortunately for me, they moved down so that I did get the middle seat. But I wasn't there for long, in fact I only remember taking my seat and looking mildly disgusted at the scuffed mud on the seats in front of me, the empty crisp packets. I was alone, walking along the street, somewhere unforgiven perhaps, the damp pavements, tall trees, big, old houses. A car being driven by a woman slowed in order to turn right into a driveway, which just so happened to be where I was headed. It was one of those huge places that used to be one massive house, but had since been turned into flats or offices, creaky wooden floors, winding staircases. As I turned right into the place she slowed and let me go first. There was an unkempt lawn, overgrown grass and lots of mud and tyre tracks and puddles. Gingerly I made my way towards the entrance, nearly slipping once, but managing to keep myself on two feet. There was some kind of security system, but I got through and there, behind a glass, was a colleague from the past. He said nothing, but I approached him and there was some kind of interaction. The ethereal quality of things was disturbed by the arrival of a large dog who eventually decided to lie on his back. I was mildly worried about the dog, but then I was awake and wondering what time it was – it was time to have my Saturday ride with Andy and it was only 0500hrs, an hour to go before I had to get up. The hour sped past and soon BBC Radio London news was blurting out of the clock radio – Tom Petty had died of an accidental drugs overdose. And now I'm downstairs, listening to Morning Phase by Beck, an album released in 2014 and connected in some way to his 2002 album, Sea Change, which I first heard in a coffee bar, Barista Parlour, in Nashville. Both are brilliant albums and I'm not sure which one I like the most. They're both laid back enough to play early in the morning, like now, but I've got to put some socks on, trainers, balaclava, make tea and head off in the dark to meet Andy at the Green. Sadly, it was not to be. An abort text followed by a phone call stopped the ride dead in its tracks – it was raining and it looks as if the weekend will be a wash-out.