I have often criticised, rightly I feel, those people who ride our roads on things with only two wheels and no engine. Yes, fucking cyclists. They are dangerous, uninsured and are the cause of traffic jams on quiet country byways. I hate them, BUT…
…believe it or not, I now have a bike of my own. Yes, I have decided to launch myself into a new life of health and fitness and a piece of pedal-driven machinery is my contraption of choice. One of three things will certainly happen within the next twelve months. I will become a super fit example of the male species OR I will end up in an orthopaedic ward screaming pitifully as they cut me out of my body-hugging cycle suit and tend to my road burns OR all my friends and relatives will be arguing about where to spread my ashes after I become entangled in my own argument with a truck. Nevertheless, I’m feeling challenged.
I’ve had the bike for a week now. It has a standard frame, with pedals sticking out, two wheels, a vicious looking seat, a couple of brakes and a selection of eighteen gears. I have no idea why I should need eighteen gears because I honestly haven’t seen eighteen different gradients on my local roads. Nor have I seen such gradients on my local pavements, which is exactly where I’ll be riding when I want to feel safe.
My problem with this cycling thing is, of course, the weather. Unless the forecast guarantees that the sun will shine for the duration of my lengthy one hour training marathon, there is no way I will be venturing out. My recurring nightmare is to find myself half-an-hour from home, dressed in a lycra baby-gro and facing a fucking downpour. I realise that we can never really guarantee our English weather so my superman fitness regime may be a rather haphazard affair.
But let’s face it, I don’t really see cycling as my route to super fitness. I see it as a way of having fun in the sun and that means causing major fucking traffic disruption.
When is the next bank holiday weekend?
The Tea Maker
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The Tea Maker
