Showing Them A Clean Pair Of Wheels

I have had a real love of cycling ever since – well, I suppose since my dad bought me a bike with stabilisers when I was a lot younger than I am now. It was my pride and joy and at the time I really thought I was something. It certainly taught me a lot about how to speed up and slow down, but the learning curve really became a lot steeper when the stabilisers finally came off. When they came off, so did I, more than once. Never big, serious falls, but enough to make me think hard about how I was going to stay on. What I found was that going really fast seems to work for me. Once I’m in full flow my control is masterful, but getting going remained a challenge for me for quite some time.

I have been practising since that day, and lately I have found that I’m getting pretty good. Not good enough to go professional, not by a long shot, but certainly pretty decent, and good enough to go on cycling tours with my club and even take part in some races. At amateur level I am more than competitive, and it allows me to get out in the fresh air and enjoy the thrill of speed along with the health benefits. I couldn’t really ask for more, and if I had the talent to go professional I wouldn’t have the freedom to just leap on my bike and cycle where I want to. Don’t get me wrong, if I could swap places with Cadel Evans tomorrow I would, but there are certainly benefits to my situation so I’m not going to complain.

The last tour I went on was in many ways my best, and in others my worst. It was great because it took in much of the country, and I got to see things from a perspective that really allows you to get a feel for your surroundings. It wasn’t perfect, however, due to the tricky moment on Day Five when I misjudged a corner and went down an embankment that never seemed to end. I was separated from my bike, which I’m prepared to accept was a good thing, given that the journey downwards would have been made more uncomfortable with metal embedded in my legs. As it was, I was convinced it’d be the end of the cycling for me. I was grazed and bruised and it felt like I’d twisted my ankle pretty badly.

As I sat there bleeding, I looked around for my bike. It had made the journey at a different angle but much the same pace and distance, and was about 50 metres to my left. I was in enough of a condition to make my way across to it on all fours and get into the small backpack I’d hooked around the handlebars. There was my first aid kit and my hydration pack. After getting some water into me I washed out my cuts and bandaged myself up. I was able to get far enough up the embankment to shout to my colleagues, a few of whom had seen what happened and stopped. After a rest of about half an hour I was good to go again, but I don’t like to think of how I’d have felt without my trusty backpack.