sheepish

On the E80 to Tbilisi there is a wonderful downhill towards the town of Gori. Stalin was born there, actually. It was raining for my descent and contrary to sound roadskills I was going full-pelt, enjoying myself. I hit a puddled pothole and the bike pretty much stopped dead with a terrible crunk. It has taken a week to appreciate the force of that impact. On reflection it must have been enormous to stop me like that when I was probably travelling well over 20 miles an hour. I wondered at the lack of damage to my wheel; flawless rims and true spokes, still. Gave thanks for intact elbows and groin. Scooting about unbaggaged in Tbilisi a few days later I noticed a lack of play in the steering, a stiffness beyond a certain degree. Removing the forks I saw the steerer tube was a little bent, emailed some snaps to the bike-builders and wondered again that I hadn't hurt myself. I'd have to find a way to straighten that tube, or endure another shipping farce to get some replacement forks.

This morning, checking the bike over before getting back on the road towards Armenia, I found worse damage beneath the mud. My downtube has become a little crumple zone. Rather than feeling bitter that my hugely expensive and reputedly 'bombproof' bicycle is so weakened, I'm trying to be thankful that it was strong enough to absorb so much of the impact. This afternoon's phonecalls to mechanics in Somerset and Google searches for mechanics in Tehran soon exposed my rusty grasp of steel working and instead became searches for cheap flights Tbilisi - Heathrow. It looks much cheaper in hassle, if not quite expense, to nip home and fix the tube properly than to ship the forks and trust my judgement on a backstreet welder in Tabriz or Tehran. I had a thought that perhaps I could get a Pakistan visa in England, too, which settled it. So there it is, I'll be in London tomorrow morning with the front half of my bicycle and a redface. I've five weeks to sort it out and meet my nephew, then back to Tbilisi... If anyone would like to catch up, or just call me to take the piss, I"ll be between London and Norwich and Bristol and my mobile number is still the same!

I'd been looking forward to finding words about my week with artists in Tbilisi. And my excitement for Armenia. I haven't any, right now.