Going the distance

When I was a small cub, your bicycle was your passport to freedom. No longer did you have to rely on your parents to get to the library or to go to the nearest shopping area, you were free.

You’d jump on your bike and you were off. It is a cliché because it was true but in those days, you’d head off at sunrise and return at dusk.

These were the days of ET and BMX, of jumping on the bike and thinking nothing about heading into London on the A3, yep the A3 that blistering, thin fast road where nothing as really changed except the speed limit and cameras. We would happily head along it on the way to London and the comic shops and marts.

I even decided to cycle to Brighton to see if I could do it, not realising that you don’t go via Guilford, adding an extra 15 miles to my ride.

Distance, and time, was nothing to us.

But something happens. In those years from invincibility to mortality, distances start to appear longer. How long? You’ve got to be kidding?

Of course the lack of bike fitness at the start doesn’t help – where cycling five miles appeared to be a very quick way to the cardio unit – but even so, as you start and progress, distance still seem immense.

When I decided to start increasing my distances, I scoured the maps like Livingstone looking for the start of the Nile. The big journey into the great unknown.

I started going on every increasing circles wither to Richmond and back or through Molesey and round to Hersham.

The circles got bigger, I included pathways such as going through the Hinchley Woods and back round via Oxshott, across fields into Cobham. The distances each week getting larger.

And then the day I crossed over the M25.

I’d gone through Cobham and past the Plough  - an old haunt of my late teenage years – then there was a bridge on the rise. I had crossed the border, I was out of London and its burbs.

I had an immense sense of achievement and that continued when I turned round further east and headed back down Downside and came back in towards London.

If I didn’t fancy the country lanes, I could head towards Heathrow and the sprawling mass of North West London, or simply head into London itself.

As part of my training for Ride London, I have been taking segments of the course, 20, 30 miles, pushing up my range and seeing what my limits are.

Some people may now think that for me 100 miles should be a synch. I really wish it would be. I really wish that all that mileage, those hills, ascents and descents alike, the timing constraints – you must ride an average 12mph – but to be honest I don’t know.

Eventually I will attempt the route before the actual day, find out what speeds I can do over the distance, what foods I will need, what are my weaknesses (Hills!!!!) and strengths, what will hurt and where.

I may collapse in a puddle of effort and sweat.

Hell, I may do that on the day itself.

But whatever happens, I will pick myself up, walk up those hills if necessary, and finish the course.

Because a year ago, I was a bear on a clapped-out second-hand bike, scared of my lack of fitness and the lack of miles. I was a bear without a road-map and had no idea that riding for MSSociety in August was going to be the next destination.

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weather with you

So the one thing that gets constantly asked if me is this: you cycled in that? 

For most non-cycling commuters, the idea that you would willingly submit yourself to the rage of the weather that makes up these isles mystifies them. There they are in their nice warm cars, trains and buses shaking their heads as some lone cyclist passes them...

Spring

Spring is wet. Very wet. It is worse than the wet of autumn and winter as it is wet interspersed with the promise of warmer weather ahead. Every sunny warm day when the lesser spotteds* come out is punctured by those artic winds and rain still shouting that they aren't finished with you yet.

You try and get your clothing right but you are either too warm or too wet, forgetting that important  rule that you are water proof! In those rainy times I have to remind myself that if I was training it in I would be sitting at my desk with wet clothes rather than the nice dry ones I wear when I get showered and changed at work. 

Thanks to cycling clothes, I am drier than most people coming in during the spring rains.

*lesser-spotteds: people who appear once the winds and rain look likely to disappear. Those empty lanes and roads you were used to are suddenly filled with a mixture of lack of fitness and too much fitness (thanks to their indoors trainers). They will scurry back into their burrows very quickly in April and May as the weather reminds them that it hasn't finished with the crap yet. 

Summer

Summer is the pita. You dress appropriately for the weather just for that artic punch to have one dying swipe at you. At least you don't have to worry about being cold. Seriously, wet is nothing, cold is all. 

So on those rare days when the sun is shining and the roads are cracking, you are peddling along only to be interrupted by the lesser spotteds and the rest of the fair weathers. Don't get me wrong, it's great to see so many people on their bike but those with their fear of melting carbon,

give of a whiff of arrogance that makes me want to scream: "You weren't there man. You weren't there when the winds hit, when the rains almost drowned us...you weren't there!" 

Autumn 

Speaking of winds, the first time I seriously encountered these was in autumn. Winds are rightfully called hills without benefits. You get plastered head on, speed dropping as fast as your gears as you try and keep some sort of speed up..and there is no downhill to compensate. 

Even worse, if you cycle in an urban arena, quite often you can be cycling along, quite comfortably, thinking "oh good, not getting any headwind" then a gap in a building sends you flying left or right as the boreas keeps its promise to remind you that all you are is a person on a flimsy machine. To drivers reading, this is why we get particularly angry at windy times, we could just get blown into you thanks to your closeness, and...there..is...nothing...we...could...do to prevent it. 

But, I hear you say, if the wind is at you on the way in, surely you get a tailwind on the way out?

I wish. 

The gods will not like that! No, the gods will shift the wind around so that you get a repeat performance - especially if, like me, you commute on an east-west axis. 

But

But

those days when the gods look favourably and push on your back...

Winter

Winter. When the dark comes to swallow you up. The crispness of the clear night, the silence of the cave.

Apologies to Bill Watterson

Now, it could be that I was a December baby but I love winter. Some fear the ice - for obvious reasons, a fall on that is not pleasant. But I love the fact that you go out in winter leggings, layers and coat, a buff on your head, a buff round your neck ready to warm the face, big gloves on as you head out. Absolutely love that. This winter, there was 24 hours of snow and I headed out in fresh powder, no cars, the darkness and dust baffling any sound as I crunched my way down a main road on my way to work - colleagues thought I was mad but, to me, it was lovely. 

Of course, you get the usual rubbish that wrecks your mechanics , the constant cleaning to keep the bike going. the sheer crap that deposits on the road leaving you in the dark and cold having to repair a puncture, the appalling driving that seems to occur whenever conditions are terrible, the aforementioned ice.

Yet, when that caveman instinct takes over when you are out there in the gloom of the evening, when that instinct tells you to push it, there are predators abound, when that air hits the back of your throat and the traffic clears and you are you, alone...

Not so much because it's there...

...more like it’s in the way.

So there I was, being passed by five year olds on stabilisers but feeling great with it. But then I had an idea…why not cycle to work? Sure you’ve only been back on a bike for a month or so. Sure, your idea of speed has a tortoise looking in contempt at you but why not? Surely I could do it?

So first I had to plan a route. Being on a hybrid meant that I could veer off-road down tracks and bridle paths rather than stick to the tarmac.  So which route?

The route I chose took me through a couple of bridle paths, Nonsuch Park and onto the A232. I thought, hey that will be fine! But I didn’t count on one-thing…hills.

When I mentioned this on Cyclechat, a local lass on there said “What hills?” They may have not been hills to her, but to me they were Cols. They were Alpine passes.

I see these towering mountains of doom, these Everests, thinking of how on earth was a big fat bear meant to get halfway up, let alone over the top…

Others see a speed hump.

So I did what I have done since the start and hit the web. All of a sudden I was confronted by some really weird language – cadence? Grinding? What on earth was everyone talking about?

As far as I could tell, all those cyclists spinning like loons had not, unlike me, dropped down too many gears but were increasing their spin – this is cadence. Good cadence is meant to mean good climbing. Grinding was when you are in too big a gear and you slowly pedal..your..way..up (I think...trust me, the gearing on bikes appears to be the reverse of cars!).

So I went on a practice run. After risking limb at Chessington and a nice jaunt through Nonsuch Park, I hit the A232.

The one thing you will notice when you start is that all these roads that appear flat, are not necessarily so.

There you are pedaling away but then you suddenly start slowing down, So you push up a bit and you still slow down – bugger, it’s an incline. But that’s OK. It will soon be over.

Not on this road. After the lights, there is a slope up. Argh! And from a standing start. You push, you weave but, but, before you know it, you’re at the top.

Amazing, King of the Hill. I can do this, you think as you freewheel down the other side.

Of course what you forget is that a lot of Surrey runs on ridges, that means ups as well as downs.

Just pass Sutton, there’s a hill that even now can get to me. It doesn’t matter if you’ve managed to get your speed up on the previous downhill, gravity is your mistress and boy is she angry.  About half way up, my legs start moaning. I am now standing, bobbing and weaving and thinking the chant that goes into everyone who’s rubbish at hills' heads at this time: “Don’t stop, mustn’t walk. Don’t stop, mustn’t walk…”

But you’re out the otherside. Again, that elation when you haven’t stopped. Sure, you’re riding at 5mph, your legs are now jelly, your heart is beating like the timpani section and Niagara falls seems to have taken root in your helmet, but you’ve done it…until the next one.

Now, most of Ride London is fairly flat but for a big lump like me, I have to start training to get past Pyrford, Leith Hill, Box Hill and Wimbledon Hill. On top of that you have the ups and downs round Oxshott which, although slight, can happily sap my legs.

Some people have asked why should they sponsor me for cycling. After all, I cycle every day to work. But not only is it 100 miles – and having to maintain a minimum of 11.8mph  -  but, according to Sportive Cyclist I will be climbing 4,325 feet (1,318km).

And I seriously don’t like hills.

A guide to using the road part 2...

If you are a cyclist, do you remember the first time you told someone – whether a mate, work or family member  - about cycling to work?

I bet you at least one response was: “I had this cyclist…” as if you were responsible for the actions of every other cyclist on the road. It was very weird the first time that happened to me. What has it got to do with me? I first started off getting defensive but nowadays I start replying: “Oh you’re a driver. I once had a driver hit my elbow…I once had a driver…” you get the idea.

So, in that spirit, I present a not-so-serious guide to the driving species.

The school mum

The school mum is tired, stressed out and thinking about everything except what is in front of her. She doesn’t mean to pull out and force you to slam the brakes on or swerve around her – she simply has her mind on other things. Little Ciabatta, who cannot walk or cycle to school cos it’s dangerous and it might be cold/wet/snow/too bright/too hot, will be safe in the spankingly new 4x4. Quite often there is a crossover with the ‘don’t-know-own-car’ driver below.

The 20-something female driver.

She’s a go-ahead girl. Literally. That’s all she’s focused on. Straight ahead at a steady as she goes 40mph no matter what. If you are lucky, you may stray into her peripheral vision but the only way to get on her register is to take up a strong primary so she may, and note I say may, notice you.

The 20-something male driver

Don’t worry about making life-saver looks for him. You will hear him from about a mile away through the revving in a wrong-gear. This over-revving will continue as he follows you through a town. It doesn’t matter that it’s a 20mph-zone, he and his Vauxhall or Citroen will rev up in impatience. He will overtake you at the nearest hint of a gap and if you are lucky, he may even have a friend to lean out of the window to shout or throw something at you.

The White Van Man (WVM)

These are the KING OF THE BEASTS, HEAR ME ROAR. These tuck in behind you, revving engines, hooting horns, flashing lights, shouting abuse at you.

Then, just as you are getting to a pinch-point (any point in the road where the road narrows for example a traffic island or parked cars), it is the signal for the KING OF THE BEASTS to overtake you, leaving you no choice but to take evasive action. Now the usual advice is to take a strong primary but, and I have seen this, the KING OF THE BEASTS will actually go to the other side of the road in the desperation to get ahead of you.

The BMW/Audi man

Now there used to be a simple, undisputed rule – stay out of the way of the BMW man. These drivers thought themselves as the Kings of the road. No rules applied to them, they had the divine right to the road. Shove you into the pavement, No problem. Red lights? Not necessary. Speed limits? Due care and attention? Road sharing? Space? Not their problem. In their important roles as middle-management, their company car was the be-all-and-end-all. Make way for the King of the road. The King was happy to cut into your path when overtaking and will always overtake in an unnecessary and dangerous manner just…

to…

join…

a…

queue…

at…

the...

lights…

ahead.

But recently, there seems to be coup de rue going on as Audi drivers for some reason have taken on the mantle of King of the road. Now, BMW-man still exists but has been joined by his Swedish upstart.

Hybrid/Prius man

Now, there is another type of King of the road – the one with the smug, green credentials. Like the above, rules of the road are apparently voluntary to these hybrid drivers – after all they are saving the planet! It doesn’t matter all those air miles, those strip mining technics and poisonous metals used to build the car. It doesn’t matter that the energy used still has to be generated somehow…they are saving the planet.

So not only do they drive with the scantest of consideration for other road users, they get to be smug about it and be silent when deadly.

Don’t know their own car

These can actually be the most frustrating of all. There you are making good time and distance, then, bang. You have to stop. Why? There is a car siting at a gap that is too afraid to more. That driver is singularly unaware of the width of their car and will not move until there is a gap the size of the Titanic to go through.

It may seem odd to criticise but there is such a thing as being too cautious and inconveniencing other road users. These drivers will also stick behind milk floats and slow bicycle riders blithely unaware of the queues growing behind them.

And to think I haven't even got onto couriers and the like...

A guide to using the road -part 1

Since commuting to work, I have picked up some of the nuances of surviving on the road. Here for your delectation, are some of the rules of the road as it appears to be attm...

Primary

Primary is a position away from the curb and nearer the middle of the lane if not the middle itself (a strong primary). Primary is designed to make drivers think twice about overtaking as well as giving you space on the left if there is an incident. Primary also keeps you away from the rubbish that collects in secondary.

According to drivers, this is done to maximise inconvenience to them and has nothing to do with ensuring safety.

Secondary

Secondary is where all the rubbish collects. Glass, stones puddles, nails, ice. On the left in the UK, it is puncture central. In addition, you have the joy of many potholes and drains to avoid as you scoot down the gutter.

Needless to say drivers love cyclists being in secondary as they can overtake at any speed and at anytime and if you fall onto the pavement as you have nowhere it go, well…

Of course there is a third positional option but that is only in the fevered mind of certain road users...

Tertiary

The cycle lane

Secondary is where councils mainly place their cycle paths. These pieces of magic paint, be it a whole block colour or a white line, are designed to make drivers happy that you are not part of the road. The magic paint will protect you as juggernauts thunder past you, millimetres from your elbow. In addition, a cycle lane is the perfect place to park if you are a delivery man or just popping down the shops whether there are parking restrictions or a solid white line.

4    The cycle path

A path separated from the road. Again, sometimes marked with the magic paint, these paths can be wholly on their own or cobbled together from pavements or pedestrian paths in so-called shared space.  In reality, these generally mean a hold-up as you navigate around dogs, children, plugged-in joggers, deaf geriatrics and those that will willfully ignore you. If you are polite and don’t bomb pass them, the etiquette for pedestrians when they realise you are there is to jump in fright and move directly into the path you are cycling just to terrify themselves again. The cycle path comes in many useful areas and spaces to allow councils to meet targets.

Image courtesy of Crap cycle lanes of Croydon

Some drivers love the cycle path as it will allow them to gesticulate angrily at a cycle path when they see you on the road, thus providing a useful outlet for the stress of the rush-hour commute.

Part two next....

On the road....

So where to go on my first rides? I am fortunate enough to live in an area where Hampton Court and the towpath are easily available as well as some lovely country lanes after a mile so there was a good amount of safe riding for the returnee bear.

Safe riding…Safe riding can be pretty easy to do, but don’t think that going onto an off-road cycle path equates to safe riding.

No-one tells you about those little rats pretending to be dogs, yapping away, leaping into your path in a misguided belief that because they can bark/yap and have teeth they are as good a killer as a staffie from the worst estates.

Neither does anyone tell you about the kids bounding out in front of you, the elderly walker around the corner, the trendy 20-somethings that are walking along a riverside pub in the glow of an advertisement-led life blocking the entire bleeding path.

And no-one tells you about other cyclists.

Like all humans, cyclists are random, chaotic beasts prone to braking suddenly or veering out in front of you as they cope with hazards ahead of them or just because. 

Some are slow, some are ridiculously quick, some jump lights others have a cup of tea and chat as they wait for the lights to change – OK, I made that one up but some do take an extraordinary length of time to get going. 

Did I say others were slow?

No-one warned me that after 25 years of non-cycling how damn slow I was going to be.

I thought I was going fast until the first of many roadies bombed past me up the Portsmouth Road into Kingston.

Swish, swish, swish as they zoom past, inches from your elbow, leaving you no space at all.

You get your energy on, yahoo, let’s go. You push your pedals, heart picks up the beat, you see them getting nearer and nearer, you can do this. Push, push, push. Look! You’re catching them up, you can do this…

Oh, it’s a red light.

They pose in their expensive lycra, sitting on their 1kg carbon-fibred, racing frames, sipping out of their ergonomically designed bidons (water bottles to you and me), chewing their sports snack, without a care in the world.

Me?

Heart a-pumping, more sweat than the London Marathon, slumped over the handlebars, looking straight ahead in the hope that I am not noticed…

To be honest, some still do bomb past me, but I am a bear on a bicycle going at around 14mph on a gravel bike, and that will suit me.

It is quite weird having someone swishing past you at first and you quickly learn to carry out life-savers – that look around behind you to see what’s going on – for other cyclists as well as cars after all, there’s only so much swearing you can put up with.

There seems to be one particular type that comes out at the weekend. I think you can tell the difference between them and those that cycle every day. It's like what an old ex-army friend of mine used to reckon. He reckoned he could tell the difference between the weekend warrior and regular soldier just by looking at them – it’s an attitude.

They sit on their expensive machines, in their club or Sky tops, and they grimace around Surrey. I swear, they are not using their legs, it’s pure pain and rage. They throw empty bottles onto the road, leave empty gas canister and inner tubes in the road, they are angry. They should be at the top. They should be in the Tour de France. They should be a contender.

Either that or they should really be in therapy.

One other thing that people don’t warn you about is when you are behind one of these wannabes, one of these weekend wheelie warriors…

Spit.

There you are, minding your own business, happy with the pace you are going when a huge globule of phlegm comes flying its way towards your face…not nice.

And do you want to know how to freak out some of those grimacing their way around North Surrey or the Yorkshire dales, etc? Smile out them. Wave. Look like you are really enjoying your ride, even if, as an unfit bear, you are ten to twenty miles in, your legs feeling like jelly and you just wished you had stayed in bed that morning. Just smile. Say hello, wave. Freak them out by reminding them that cycling can be a happy thing as well.  

And for good measure, go on one of the forums and complain how no one smiles back or says hello. Everyone loves reading about that sort of thing... (actually don’t, that was a joke).