by Andy McDobbin
After I began working for the Daily Peloton, I thought it would be excellent to take up remotely competitive riding again. The problem was that I had barely ridden in about 5 years…
In my younger days, I took up cycling but didn’t take to it very well: I remember returning home after a (very) short journey up the road, and trying to use my feet to break on something like a 3% downhill gradient. In the end, I stopped – in tears – about 100m from our house! Also, I’m continuously haunted by the fact I couldn’t manage the family’s garden path and tottered slowly – but surely – into the nearby shrubbery. Cue more wails and sobs. I just forgot about cycling until October 2002 when I ‘met’ the Daily Peloton and contracted the cycling bug.
In December, having told (persuaded/ordered/demanded) my parents to buy me a ‘real’ bike for an upcoming school charity rider, we went down to a local shop. I ended up with a Raleigh Mustang MTB, which was fine. My dad had also acquired a cycling jersey in Italy, so when I turned up for the ride, I actually looked a bit out of place. Most people older, taller and less professional looking than I.
As the ride set out, I made my first mistake: to follow the older guys… soon I was slipping back through the ‘peloton’ as we negotiated the thankfully deserted roads. The halfway point of the ride was up Ide Hill. The general gradient is ‘up-false flat-up-false flat-up-false flat, etc.
Subsequently, I thought the hill was over about ten times before the steepest came and it actually did end – by then, I’d already stopped about five times to have a drink of water and generally recover. Luckily, there was – incredibly – a smaller yet slightly older guy more suited to my abilities whom I stuck with most of the way through… then dropped at the top of the climb to take the glory. Nonetheless, I realised you can still make good friends.
The way back was more downhill, so I actually managed to forget the hellish introduction to cycling on Ide Hill. Kind of like some cycling demon was challenging me, saying ‘Hey big boy, if you want to do cycling, you’re going to have to do a lot more, harder climbs faster – this is nuthin’.’ But the ride didn’t heal or even slow the cycling bug that had infected me, and I took up this challenge eagerly.
There were immediate setbacks though – one being that I had to play a five-a-side soccer tournament upon arriving back at school: my legs were shattered by the end of the day. About three weeks after the ride, with me still getting used to gear shifting, pedalling and going vaguely fast, I left home without a helmet. There was a very short downhill, about 80m of 9%… and at the top of it, I broke heavily. Suddenly, everything went belly up, and the bike and I were detached on separate courses. I think it came to a rest, with the tyre hitting my head. I was pretty shocked… but got up, collected the bike and went on to the pavement out of the way of cars. Me – fragile Andy who comes with several health warnings – having broken five things on my body in five years – only had a few bruises (and mental scarring) from this pretty heavy over-the-handlebars fall. After that, I vowed to wear my helmet every time I went out, and to slow on downhills.
Since then, things have gone on in leaps and bounds. I gained more confidence, and fixed the cycling computer I got for Christmas (in April!). I’d ridden all the climbs in the area (at 5’3” and barely 50kg, I’m better suited to uphills) and went on two rides with a teacher from school and several friends, including one up the feared Box Hill before we went to France on holiday. And there were bikes at our ‘gite’ in France…
The only problem was that there were no helmets. Deja vu. I still had a bit of a fear that if I cycled helmetless, something bad would always happen. Nonetheless, every morning riding to the boulangerie and back, no bad things happened. Only on the penultimate day of the holiday, on a longer ride with my father, did something bad happen. Descending into a very small town called St. Nazaire, I looked back for my father, and turned around, nearly crashing into a 3ft block of bricks, which was alongside the road. I piled on the brakes with a screech and looked down – if I had gone down, it would have been a good 15ft fall without a helmet. A bit shaken, we continued on our way in a loop back to the ‘gite’. Back home, I regained confidence on the downhills – my top speed is 33.5 mph (55km/h), which would warrant a speeding ticket in certain areas of England!
A week ago, I bought an iBanesto.com cycling jersey and Bianchi Eurostar gloves – they are very snazzy! But it’s not just about looking good on your bike (a very superficial view), cycling is man against nature. You can take so many different things from every bike ride – things to remember (or things to forget). Personally, I love it: cycling gives you a chance to just get away from everything for a few precious hours, and to appreciate nature away from the smells and business in urban areas. Today, I ground to a halt on a deserted woodland trail and looked around. The forest had cleared, and now there were fields encircling me. The sun was gleaming at me, and birds were actually singing nearby (however cliché that may sound). Sometimes man and nature can join forces to produce something of such beauty and preciousness. Even if it was only me, some birds and my trusty Raleigh steed that witnessed it.
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