I’ve had my new bike for about three weeks now, and have managed to get out on it every weekend since I brought it home. I know that memoirs are usually reminiscences of bygone years, but I don’t have the patience to wait years before I tell of my cycling exploits, so I am going to look back on them directly after they have happened.
The starting point and destination of today’s outing will be of little interest to anyone, so I won’t bother with those. I will just say that my route followed a disused railway track that wends its way through countryside. I didn’t see much of the countryside, as the track is lined with trees for most of its length, and they are mainly what I saw.
There seems little point in describing the trees, as most people are very familiar with them, and the mere mention of trees will, more than likely, bring a picture into their minds that is very similar to what I saw on my bike ride. Imagine mostly Hawthorns.
I will say no more of the scenery. For today’s memoir, I will focus on the other people one tends to come across on a disused railway track, lined with mostly Hawthorns, on a reasonably sunny day at the weekend.
Families are probably the worst. Typically two adults, two children, and perhaps a dog. Always spread out all over the place so you don’t know the best way to get past them. And if the kids are on bikes, at least one of them will wobble its way right into your path, just as you are about to pass. Once you do get past, the dog takes that as a cue to run after you, and usually draws alongside, barking. I always feel reluctant to kick a dog when its owners are watching, or when it’s a Rottweiler.
There always seem to be more solitary, older men on bikes than one would expect. I suppose I should expect it, as I am one myself. I hope I don’t look as distressed and ill deigned for cycling as many of them do. The more of them the better, as far as I am concerned. I gradually caught one of them up today; on a long, steady uphill stretch. I put on a little extra burst of speed as I passed him -just to make a point- but then the moment was spoiled when someone else came up from behind and shot passed us both.
Then there are the ones who are not there to mess about; usually in groups of three or four. I don’t see much of this sort, as they are either behind me, or disappearing into the distance in front of me. I find it a bit demoralising when they rocket past me, and always wish that they wouldn’t do it with such an apparent lack of effort. When coming at you from the front, head on, it gives one an insight into how it must feel to be locked onto by guided missiles. They wear proper cycling clothes that enable them to reach speeds far beyond anything I could match in jeans and a T shirt.
The track can be narrow in places, and when two pedestrians are walking side by side, there often isn’t enough room to go round them. This can create a tricky situation when approaching from behind. Even single walkers should be considered a potential hazard, as they tend to drift across the pathway just as you are about to pass them. Sometimes people hear you as you approach, and will move to one side, but quite often they don’t hear, or they pretend not to hear. I always try to make a noise of some sort when coming up behind other track users. My bike came equipped with a little bell for that purpose, which gives out a weak ting when you flick the striker, and sounds like something that belongs on a three year old’s tricycle. I usually apply my brakes just enough to make a squeak, or change gear, which makes a clicking sound; anything rather than embarrass myself by ringing the bell.
I will conclude with a couple of honourable mentions: Firstly, the two very elderly women on mobility scooters, who brought me to a standstill both on my way out, and then again on my way back. And there was quite an old chap, walking with a younger woman; I encountered him twice, too. When he looked at me, as I passed by, I couldn’t tell whether he disapproved of me, or whether he was one of those old people whose face is fixed in a permanent grimace. A bit of both, I expect.
:shock:
