The day before the French Creek Iron Tour, Dr. Diarist and I went for a short ride, and stopped at a farmers’ market.
The amazingly capacious Brompton basket is just made for errands like this one.
In fact, it threatens to dwarf Basil. Argyll looks twice as slim, unencumbered as he is.
Consuming cupcakes the day before a somewhat hilly 30 mile/48.2 km event may not have been the best strategy, but it was a tasty one.
We had company in the form of a small opportunist.
Evidence all over the picnic pavilion suggested that other forms of wildlife had previously been resident. Presumably the parks department had issued the usual eviction notices.
This was such a short ride that Dr. Diarist and I were both wearing street clothes, which is unusual for us. Say what you will about spandex, it does make long rides far more comfortable than anything else!
We took an unusual route back; Dr. Diarist had discovered a hidden alley neither one of us had known about. It was paved here, but a tangled path further along, which was probably why we’d missed it.