I wish I could tell you that the subject of this story was truly the stuff of legend. I wish I could say that I shared the asphalt with Chris Froome and bested him. I wish I could say that I won the downhill world cup chain-less, like Aaron Gwinn. Sadly this is not to be, this is a story about stupidity, my own stupidity to be exact.
According to Wikipedia, which everyone knows should be treated as gospel, the Non Educated Delinquent or Ned for short is "a derogatory term applied in Scotland to hooligans, louts or petty criminals, latterly with the stereotypical implication that they wear casual sports clothes." What it neglects to mention is that they are usually accompanied by a bottle of Buckie, curse excessively, have a discernible whine to their speech and most importantly, are all a bunch of arseholes.
Depending on where you are in the world you may use the words Chav, Flaite, Dres, Gopnik, Skeet or Suedehead (if there are any more please leave them in the comments section below). Whatever you want to call them, I lowered myself to their level and came up stinking of shit.
My standard route home usually consists of main roads and cycle lanes. However as it was a lovely spring evening I decided to go on the path that meanders alongside the river. It is 2 miles longer but is a lot more scenic than sucking on the exhaust pipe of a double decker bus.
I was pottering along absorbing the ambience, minding my own business, when suddenly I was encircled by six neds. It appears that this route traversed through their stomping ground. They were all riding undistinguishable full suspension mountain bikes, each one attempting to pop a wheelie and chatting to one another in their stereotypical accent. Now obviously I began to feel a little uneasy, I mean even Connor McGregor would have felt a little intimidated. The dreadful stories you often hear on the news regarding this caliber of individual immediately made my mind race.
It was only interrupted when what I can only assume was the leader of the posse spoke directly to me, "Alrite big man lit us see yer best wheelie."
I chuckled and replied, "Nah not today thank you."
His mates backed him up, "Gang oan lit us see whit ye hae got ."
"I'm good thanks just riding and enjoying the scenery, would you mind moving out the way please?" As they had now slowed me down to an uncomfortable pace.
The leader continued, "Whit urr ye tae chicken shit, ye wee fud?"
His friends cackled at his truly awe-inspiring whit. By now though I was enraged, nobody calls me a chicken shit. It is as if I had turned into Marty McFly, I just saw red and was ready to accept his challenge.
Back in the day I was a very capable trials rider, I had a repertoire of stunts available at my disposal ranging from fakies to bunny hops, from pedal hops to the aforementioned wheelie. Although as of late the most I had done was a trackstand, I assumed that you would never forget how to do something that once came so naturally.
So I leaned back, kicked my dominant leg and tugged on the handlebars. My front wheel came off the ground but I was too tentative and it went straight back down. I tried it a second time, the same result. Third time lucky, I was up, now cycling on my back wheel. For four short marvellous seconds I felt like Danny MacAskill. I thought to myself, "Whose the chicken shit now bitchez?" I was making their attempts at a wheelie look feeble in comparison.
That is until I over balanced and came flying off the back, landing in a big heap on the floor. The wind knocked out of me I looked up at the deep blue sky, as six chortling neds came into view. Staring down at me in fits of stitches, brandishing phones taking pictures of my misfortune. My face changed to varying levels of crimson.
"Ye fuckin fanny." The leader shouted.
He wasn't wrong I thought, as I got to my feet. I am getting too old for this shit...
Thank you everyone for reading my silly little story, I hope you enjoyed it. I just wanted to give a little shout-out to 