Cycling and Friends

I love my bike and I love cycling. Together they can make me very happy. That is until something goes amiss. Then I can become VERY frustrated, then angry and then when all else fails, tearful. If it ever gets to this stage I usually phone my mother. I'm sure nearly every cyclist has at some point been covered in grease, surrounded by bike parts, tools and buckets of water and realised what you're doing just isn't working.

No one likes a whinging cyclist and I generally try to avoid engaging with any 'them (ie. taxi drivers, bus drivers, van drivers, motorcyclists, every other sodding motorist oh...and pedestrians) versus us' banter or describing my falls, scrapes or other road grievances. And although en route to work, I regularly witness scenes of apoplectic rage between cyclists and drivers and have myself been known to swear louder and more coarsely than I thought possible when others endanger me and themselves with their thoughtlessness, I am not easily riled.

Having said this, as with general bad luck which people often insist comes in threes (incidentally I think it's far more random than that and the stuff of children's nursery rhymes anyway- the three little pigs, the three blind mice, the three bears etc.), my own bike related dramas and annoyances do seldom happen in isolation. Last night being a case in point.

Whilst cycling home after a particularly tumultuous day in the office (during which I was variously praised for my efficiency, skill and even kindness by some clients and criticised, patronised and verbally abused by others) I found myself struggling first with a freak wheel jam, then my brakes popped, then I had not one but two punctures (one in my brand new inner tube) and to top it, all my formerly trusty track-pump failed to work.

Usually, these kind of events don't phase me: 'I can fix my own bike and don't need no man to help me do it'. But when it means I end up having to down tools and take the underground to work because no bike shops are open after 8pm or before 7.30am (now there's an idea) I do get pretty grumpy. How on earth do people do it every day?! 'It really is no big deal, at all' says Ric, annoyed by the pained look spreading my face as I realise that I will have to get up early to join the sour-faced masses in the morning, pay for the privilege and possibly catch their bugs. The last time I commuted by tube was shortly after an accident and even then I struggled to decide whether concussion and double vision were justifiable grounds for using public transport.

But wait, this is turning in to a diatribe. The point I really wanted to make was that aside from the hassle and grief these seemingly crappy circumstances bring, unexpected rewards usually occur too. Because I didn't cycle today and didn't feel compelled to rush home as I always do, I spent three hours walking and talking with a dear friend instead. I had forgotten how powerful a stimulant the act of walking can be for thought and conversation. I had also forgotten just how walkable London is having spent so much time whizzing about or underneath it instead. I wonder if I might one day miss it.