September: The Yellow Jersey

Sunday August 29^th

I get up early to begin my goal. 5am early. The morning is an invisibility cloak: with no one around, you’re protected from embarrassment. I don’t have the confidence to ride my bike to the park, so I push it the five minutes up the road. I pass a sole pedestrian, who gives me a pitiful he must have a puncture look. If only she knew. Other than two dog walkers up the other end, I’m the only one in the park. I mount my bike and wobble. I grip the handlebars tight like a rollercoaster. Fortunately, I stay on. I make my way up to the car park at the top and practise going in circles. I’m ok doing this up the gradient but feel as though the bike is running from me when I go down. I then attempt to cycle out of the gate, however I panic on approach. ‘It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than it is for Ryan to pass through an accessible exit.’

I push my bike home and have two showers to remove the sweat.

Tuesday August 31^st

I’m back at the park early again. The dog walkers are out again. Are they having an affair? You often hear about adulterers meeting under the blanket of PM darkness, why not AM darkness? There are trees in the park arranged in circular formation; I make it my task to weave between them. I’m not very good at this. I think I’m forgetting to get my body to do some of the work. I’m putting too much responsibility on the handlebars. At this rate, the bars will up and leave me, screaming, ‘You expect too much of me! I can’t be everything you want me to be!’

 Wednesday 1^st September

I’m back in the park, going round in circles in the car park and avoiding trees in the park. I pluck up the courage to cycle the few minutes back to the house. I survive. It was 5.45am: no cars were on the road.

 

Training Ground

Friday 3^rd September

If I’m going to go on the road, I need to be able to indicate. I practise going up and down the football pitch with one arm out. I do this for about two seconds, then snatch the handlebar back, as though it were a boat and my nerves, a shark. At the very end of my session, I manage to cycle the width of a football pitch one handed. I am Chris Froome. I am Bradley Wiggins. I am yellow jersey. I am cycling!

Sunday 5^th September

I leave the park behind and head to Houghton Hall Park. This involves riding on roads, across a small park and through a dirt track. I find indicating on the road harder than on grass. There’s a time pressure when a car is behind you. If I don’t master indicating, I’m going to have to emigrate to Roman times, just so I can stay on those straight roads. To get into Houghton Hall Park, you go down quite a hill. I’m sure my bike is only going at 10 mph, but it feels the kind of speed that will land me before the magistrate. Going back up the hill is harder though. How do gears work?

 Tuesday 7^th September

There are some barriers down the alleyway leading to the park; these are designed to make cyclists dismount as the space is too tight for velo and flaneur to co-exist. I want to improve my handling so attempt to weave between them.

I crash into a hedge.

The hedge in question

Thursday 9^th September

I get through the barriers. On my tenth attempt.

 Tuesday 14^th September

Not much time today, so I head to the local park. I want to try something different; I therefore decide to cycle up the Splash Pool Café disability ramp. Splash Pool Café Disability Ramp will be the name of my new band.

 Saturday 18th September

A beautiful morning. I’m by no means an expert, but I cycle from my house, down the road, into the park, through the dirt track, down the hill, around to the park (sure, I struggled with the barriers) and had a lovely ride. The bike no longer feels like an HGV vehicle, but a dance partner. Admittedly, the bike is Anton and I’m Ann Widecombe – but there’s some kind of communication between us now.

Tuesday 22^nd September

I’m up early before work and decide to head out on the main road. It’s early so there are very few cars around; however, there is one big ass lorry. I feel like Marlin in Nemo. It’s a long way from home. Luckily, the lorry isn’t hungry and decides to spare my life. I quickly head home, feeling I’ve been quite brave enough for one day.

 Saturday 26^th September

I cycle to Totternhoe, a neighbouring village. That means a busy road, roundabouts and a big downhill. Like all my rides it’s early so few are around. Unscathed, I reach the bottom. I look up and wonder how on earth I’m going to get back up. I think about going door to door, in search of a Sherpa, a Ghurka, some experience mountaineer to help me navigate this climb. In the end I set my bike to a low gear (still don’t really get them) and pedal like a cartoon character heading for a fall. I reach the top. I go home and have two showers to remove the sweat.

Sunday 27^th September

Harriet has her bike back from the shop and has a child’s seat affixed to the rear. She has a little practise in the garden without Kit at first. Then, we strap him in and she cycles from one end to the other. Like a child in the park, I ask for a turn. I look over my shoulder and there’s my little boy. His safety in my hands. I turn the pedals and we move the few short yards. One small pedal for man, one giant leap for Ryan. I know I wouldn’t have been able to do it a month ago. Now I know one day I’ll be able to teach him to ride a bike. The thought makes me smile.