It rained all day. Our lightweight waterproof macs were useless, perhaps because they were incredibly old, we were completely soaked through. I remembered now that I'd planned on throwing mine away after discovering this last time I'd used it, but somehow it had ended up back in the drawer.
When we hit a rut and fell off Tandy it didn't much matter that L ended up in the canal (in terms of wet clothes), I'm sure the actual experience was slightly traumatic and ego bashing. I'd fallen into the hedge and was just brushing off the nettle stings trying to fighting off uncontrollable laughter, whilst L stood processing the whole situation.

The tow path had got progressively worse and in parts we had to walk and fight our way through the overgrowth. In better sections it was still slow and hard going due to the combined weight of myself and all the baggage on the back wheel, and the wet grass creating a lot of drag.
The next challenge of the day was a steeply stepped iron bridge crossing the entrance to a marina. There was no alternative other than to go up and over so we hoisted Tandy up, step by step, and repeated the process down the other side. The whole thing took us ages and a couple of passing narrow boats hollered enthusiastic encouragement.

Stopping under a bridge to warm up some soup, I changed into dry clothes, added more layers and resorted to wrapping my towel ontop, around my torso, in a toga fashion. Held tight with a bungee, this proved successful in keeping the top half of my clothing dry for the rest of the day and over the next couple of days would became my standard wet weather, cycling entire.

A bit of Yorkshire bartering at a canal side pub secured a room for the night.