The weather was typically British winter, insofar it was chilly, slightly grey and a little damp.
As per usual cyclists dominated the roads inside the park with the Lycra clad roadie taking top spot.
I decided to take my P type rather than my Titaniun S Type, mainly as it is still in its summer outfit - no mudguard and Kojak tyres. Despit this my second lap seemed as fast as any I have ever done. Answers on a postcard to explain that one?
On my third lap just after ascending the long climb and levelling out into the flats I saw a rider about 50m in front take a tumble. It looked as if he applied the front brake too heavily and flipped over but when I reached him the buckled and what was once a lovely aluminium pump, told the story. It must have come loose and gone between his wheels.
The strange thing about all this is that there were lots of other cyclists around and those that passed didn't bat an eyelid. I was close enough to hear that those initially passing didn't even shout out to ask if he was okay.
I stopped and asked if he was alright and thankfully apart from nasty grazes on his hands, elbows and a dent to his pride he wasn't badly injured. He was soon on his way albeit slowly and that rather lovely pump no more.
Back on my beloved Brompton and complying my last circuit I speculated as to why no one stopped or even shouted out whether he was okay? I am pretty sure that if I were on a Brompton ride my fellow Bromptonians would offer assistance to anyone in possible need. This morning, at that particular time those cyclist decided that it was more important they continue their lap, too cold to stop, that he was okay or that it wasn't their problem. Whatever the reason it was a pretty poor show!