There was an interesting piece on the news the other day suggesting that cycling is the new craze, especially for middle-aged blokes all seemingly desperate to emulate Bradley Wiggins’ exploits on the current Tour de France. Having just returned from four hours of almost non-stop hill climbing around a far less glamorous tour de Otley, my nose tilted so vertical at times I resembled the stream of planes leaving Leeds-Bradford airport; emulating Bradley Wiggins was the last thing on my mind. Avoiding the onset of a massive heart attack and ending my days in a ditch were far more likely.
There is evidence though of a huge boom in recreational cycling, with men especially, desperate to spend fortunes on an amazing array of hi-tech contraptions and then spend another fortune kitting ourselves out to look like…Bradley Wiggins? Well, there at least, is where the comparison comes to a crunching stop. Cycling appears to bring out man’s natural compulsion to try to outdo one another by ensuring some have to have the very latest gear and what a dazzling choice there is; most of us, however, content ourselves with a reliable set of brakes and a padded saddle.
Al Capone’s Bike of Choice
A friend of mine lavishes that much attention on his bike I am sure his wife must secretly be insanely jealous, certainly she would appreciate the tender foaming scrub that the bike gets after every outing like a thoroughbred race horse. White forks, white wheels and even tyres with a white walling; this bike is seriously pimped up for a day out with a few mates.
It is though, all a bit wasted, as he is normally that far back all you can generally see is a pall of steam blowing skywards in the distance as the faint sounds of a stream of expletives waft uphill directed to whoever has chosen this latest mountain trek. I can see the day he eventually keels over and the paramedics arrive only to gaze adoringly at this sleek machine ignoring its prostrate owner, foaming at the mouth and breathing his last.
Lawrence And Fred Go Cycling
Cycling attracts all shapes and sizes as evidenced by the recent documentary following sporting greats, Lawrence Dallaglio and Andrew Flintoff as they cycled the 2,872km from Greece to London in celebration of the Olympics, and in the process raising over £2m for charity. Watching these two – hauling bodies not exactly designed for a lightweight road bike up incredible ascents across the Italian and French Alps – showed what the force of sheer willpower can achieve.
Behind them an accompanying party of varying ages, abilities and backgrounds all sought to achieve the main targets: survival and the finishing line. One did actually suffer a heart attack and another left the party suffering from extreme dehydration. It was not about who came first or last and demonstrated one of the great aspects of the team above the individual; this was as much about ensuring your mate crossed the line every bit as much as your own personal achievement.
The Art Of Survival And How To Find A Cream Tea
Certainly a four-hour slog around Otley and the surrounding areas is hardly alpine, but the attraction of the challenge is every bit the same. Man’s basic instincts of survival come to the fore – although searching for a tea shop and a cream scone en route is hardly from the Bear Grylls’ survival guide.
The Bedstead
I would bet that most of us had bikes as kids, crashed a few times, lost a few teeth and barely sat in the saddle for another twenty years. Having played competitive sport into my forties I had not been on a bike since my teenage years and, as I entered middle age, my next bike was won in a raffle…for a quid! This Raleigh contraption, made of solid iron and weighing the equivalent of half a dozen of the lightweight carbon-framed beauties only a few extra grand would have secured, became known to my pals as The Bedstead.
As laughable as its presence on various rides became it was certainly durable even if it needed two of us to lift it over the odd wall or fence. On our inaugural Coast to Coast trip, a head over the handlebars crash on day one ensured that The Bedstead had a hundred miles left with two bent wheels and no rear brakes; still it was never halted by the odd tack lying on the road…maybe Bradley should consider one? I completed the trip serenely humming “One Wheel on My Wagon” and it was a tribute to Raleigh’s engineering that man and machine arrived safely in Sunderland; although the sheer joy of that ride meant that the cycling bug had bitten and The Bedstead was for the smelting pot.
Cycles ‘R Us
The attraction of cycling to the average middle-aged bloke is largely due to a variety of factors and sadly, as I approach fifty, I have to concede that I am able to speak on behalf of Middle-Aged Man. Many of us will have played competitive sport and still have the urge to compete. Also, most of us have always been children at heart and so the chance to spend small fortunes on a new toy is irresistible especially as there is likely to be nobody to say “you can’t have that one”; and all of us appreciate the benefits of staying fit even if we rely on our new toy a bit too much hurtling down hills at breakneck speed.
So we are magnets for the bike shop sales people as we enter the grown up “toy” shop, credit card twitching, eyes bulging and salivating at the incredible array of machines that will do nothing to get us any closer to Bradley Wiggins…even if it comes with an on board motor. Must have machines necessitate must have accessories and layers of gaudily coloured Lycra whatever the squeeze whilst English weather necessitates waterproof gear sufficient to go deep sea fishing.
The next time you set out destined to come back sweat-drenched and with your body screaming at you after an endless stretch of hill climbing and free falling descents over quicker than adolescent sex, just remember that this really is doing you good. Try to keep this in mind as you search for the summit of the hill, sweat stinging your eyes and knowing that soon you will be flying downhill only to meet yet another one to climb back up, mouth parched and heart pounding.
Savour the winter rides when hands and feet are numb; embrace the inevitability of swallowing a nation of flies on those odd sun-blessed days. And, most of all, relish the sheer joy of being free and alive…even if you feel like death.
Patch says
Wow Willy I have a friend similar to the one you mention here.He has everything white too ,so much so he could be sponsored by Daz.White trousers whiter shirt and even whiter cricket boots.Rather than an expensive bike he has an expensive cricket bat from the pimped up end of the market.Sounds like your mates bike gets more use than my mates bat.
I here your mates always trailing at the back. I think my mate would be the same had he not spent 80% of his work time at the gym eyeing up pensioners at pilates.
Look forward to your next musing Cheers