Two wheels good!
Glad to hear you have invested in a bicycle. I trust that you are as militant as can be, riding on pavements and thwacking the wing-mirrors of passing motorists with your pump as you weave in and out of traffic and pedestrians like a two wheeled terror. Of course, I imagine that cycling on the continent is rather different to cycling here. Over here the biggest problem when riding on the pavement (having been forced off the road by 4x4s) is chav mums with double buggies and of course dog s**t. Over on the Continent, I imagine that every pavement is chocca with Europeans sitting at tables, drinking very small coffees and milking EU subsidies for all they are worth before heading back to the office at four for a half-hour fiddling of expenses before going home.
I remember when I picked up my bike a couple of years ago. It wouldn't fit in the car so I had to ride it home. This would not, I thought, present a problem. At this time I was going to the gym three times a week and they had exercise bikes there.
One hundred yards later I made a note to resign my gym membership, as a gym bike is about as much like a real bike as a rowing machine is to the sort of boat Ellen MacArthur tools around the globe in.
Two hundred yards later and, very much like Ellen, I was in tears. Luckily, the amount of sweat pouring off me disguised this.
I got home and massaged horse liniment into my calves. Then calf liniment into my horses.
Since that early encounter I have learned to love my bicycle. This is because it is so much better than a car for certain jobs. You can ride it back from the pub, you can go on pavements, cut across parks and go up and down steps - all these things are frowned at if you have a car. What I really liked about my bike was that, although it was 'entry level '(i.e. cheap), by the time I had accessorised it with lights, lock and helmet, I had doubled my bill.
I think that I will have to accessorise further this year, as I fancy a water bottle. Obviously, it will have to be full of something ginandtonic (the civilised version of isotonic). I also rather fancy myself in a lycra outfit. The problem is that I strongly suspect that somebody like myself, slightly overweight yet lanky, will look like a condom full of custard when attired in lycra. Possibly the way to go is flat cap, tweeds and bicycle clips.
One reason, I suppose, that cyclists are more highly regarded on the continent than in the UK is the Tour de France. This is currently being televised and is worth watching for the sprint finish, normally only slightly marred by half of the pack falling over, probably because a cyclist has slipped on something Paula Radcliffe left there the day before.
Coolest continental cyclist: James Coburn in The Great Escape.
Finally, you'll be glad to know that two years of cycling have left me in the peak form of physical fitness. This fitness was tested to the limit this morning when I had to run for my train, setting a new personal best of making it to the station not from the newsagents but from the coffee-shop! By the time we got to Clapham Junction my ragged breathing was almost normal again. Sorry to report though, that I still run like a girl.
I remember when I picked up my bike a couple of years ago. It wouldn't fit in the car so I had to ride it home. This would not, I thought, present a problem. At this time I was going to the gym three times a week and they had exercise bikes there.
One hundred yards later I made a note to resign my gym membership, as a gym bike is about as much like a real bike as a rowing machine is to the sort of boat Ellen MacArthur tools around the globe in.
Two hundred yards later and, very much like Ellen, I was in tears. Luckily, the amount of sweat pouring off me disguised this.
I got home and massaged horse liniment into my calves. Then calf liniment into my horses.
Since that early encounter I have learned to love my bicycle. This is because it is so much better than a car for certain jobs. You can ride it back from the pub, you can go on pavements, cut across parks and go up and down steps - all these things are frowned at if you have a car. What I really liked about my bike was that, although it was 'entry level '(i.e. cheap), by the time I had accessorised it with lights, lock and helmet, I had doubled my bill.
I think that I will have to accessorise further this year, as I fancy a water bottle. Obviously, it will have to be full of something ginandtonic (the civilised version of isotonic). I also rather fancy myself in a lycra outfit. The problem is that I strongly suspect that somebody like myself, slightly overweight yet lanky, will look like a condom full of custard when attired in lycra. Possibly the way to go is flat cap, tweeds and bicycle clips.
One reason, I suppose, that cyclists are more highly regarded on the continent than in the UK is the Tour de France. This is currently being televised and is worth watching for the sprint finish, normally only slightly marred by half of the pack falling over, probably because a cyclist has slipped on something Paula Radcliffe left there the day before.
Coolest continental cyclist: James Coburn in The Great Escape.
Finally, you'll be glad to know that two years of cycling have left me in the peak form of physical fitness. This fitness was tested to the limit this morning when I had to run for my train, setting a new personal best of making it to the station not from the newsagents but from the coffee-shop! By the time we got to Clapham Junction my ragged breathing was almost normal again. Sorry to report though, that I still run like a girl.
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