Cyclist

It all started to impress a boy.  

At the age of 35 I was freshly divorced and somehow dating a man 9 years my junior, mega-fit and way out of my league.  I was pretty keen to keep him distracted from these incompatibilities for as long as I could, so when he suggested we go for a bike ride I quickly agreed, not letting details like not owning a bike, or even having sat on one for the best part of two decades, get in the way.  I grew up on my bike.  It’s in my blood.  How hard could it be?  Surely it’s, well, like riding a bike?

Cycling was an integral part of my childhood.  In my village primary school we all learned the rules of the road on the playground and did our Cycling Proficiency test together.  With one bus every couple of hours through my village, cycling was the only way to have any kind of social life.  One of my most memorable birthday presents was my old, shabby bike resprayed a shiny purple and I still have a scar on my chin from tearing round the garden on my wheeled mean-machine before flying over the rockery to execute a perfect, face-first landing onto a wheelbarrow.  When I hit the big smoke for university, it wasn’t the people with different skin tones or accents that blew my rural mind; I couldn’t get over the fact that adults existed who couldn’t ride bikes.

Learning to drive and (thinking I was) becoming cool saw cycling locked up in the metaphorical shed.  And there it remained for 20 years, until I needed to convince a gorgeous young man that I was totally fit and outdoorsy and could absolutely, definitely keep up with him.

It was spring when we first went riding together.  Him in his full Lycra gear and expensive Trek lightweight road bike, me in tracksuit bottoms and a scraggy old t-shirt, riding his older model (there’s a joke in there about the age gap, but my Mum reads these so…).  I was uncomfortable on a bike sized for a 6’ tall man, with no padding, but it was wonderful!  We rode for about 15 miles and I was hooked.

Gradually we started going 20 miles, then 30 and more.  It was a great activity to do together; we rode side by side and chatted, I slowly got brave enough to make our own little exhilarating peloton, and it was a constant source of amazement just how much snacking was as important as pedalling.  I developed a renewed appreciation for the countryside – cycling’s surprisingly immersive as you can hear and smell everything you pass – and felt like I was living Wind in the Willows as the birds popped out of the hedgerows to fly alongside us.

Ebay provided a bike that actually fit and my Lycra collection expanded.  This activity which had been enjoyable with none of the right gear was now something I actively looked forward to.  I remembered the childhood freedom of the wind in my face and revelled in the sense of discovery which each new route brought.

For some ungodly reason, the fit young man wanted to bag an Alp, so we cycled to the top of Mont Ventoux, using Holme Moss as a warm up a few weeks before.  Neither of these succeeded in killing me and my love for cycling grew.  Since then I’ve cycled in triathlons up to half-Ironman distance and completed a 110 mile sportive event with my sister.  I have three bikes and finally understand what a cycling guru friend of mine meant when he said that you can never have too many.  I’ve even learned to love cycling clothes (so many pockets!!).

 

So if you’re thinking about taking up cycling – DO IT!  Choose a pace, a route and a snack that suits you and just crack on.  There is freedom, discovery and cake.  If you get really lucky, there are handsome young men who eventually marry you.  If not, there’s still cake.