Cycling

Wheezing, forcing air in and out through gritted teeth, I swing my right leg over the back of the bike and stand there with my fingers squeezed on the back brake for stability; looking out over the panoramic view ahead of me. The dreaming spires of Oxford arrange themselves asthetically in the centre of the vista. The edge of the Chiltern hills in the distance make a gallant attempt at an horizon only to be outdone by the haze of the sun.

This is my territory. My spiritual home. From here I can see the hospital I was born in, the city I grew up in and the world-famous landmarks that brought people from all over the world into my childhood. But all that belongs to somebody else… Most of the land I can see belongs to the University of Oxford. This patch, however – the strip of hillside between Hinksey and Boars Hill – is (or at least, was) mine. I spent many a happy hour up here in my teenage years.

It never ceases to amaze me how far genuine effort can physically get a human being under just their own steam. Either on foot or by bike, if you just head off in a direction with enough in your thoughts or your ears to distract you, it’s amazing how quickly you end up genuinely far away. I’ve been drawn to this concept throughout my life – either cycling or running or just walking. I’ve walked entire mountain ridges in the Lake District, cycled to the next city and beyond on my bike and even covered most of the Oxford landmarks in the only official half-marathon I ever ran.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m no impressive case: I’m probably the least fit I’ve ever been at the moment, 9 months after tearing the muscles in my leg. No, it’s not me that’s a celebration of human endeavour; more just the underestimation of human endeavour in the first place. But, as a 15-year-old, I felt like I ruled the world to be able to get so far away as if to be able to look over my kingdom.

In truth, while I might have a view out across Oxford and not see a building for miles in either direction, I’m actually in the fields just behind my school playing fields and down into the next valley is the garden centre just the other side of the A34 to one of my best friend’s childhood homes. The world is never quite as big as it first looks or seems. But I used to weave these bridle paths and country lanes into an infinite chain of exploratory mountain bike trails.

I’m always amazed that I never really got caught out as a kid. My only concerns were to make sure I had batteries for my walkman and a supply of snacks. These were the days before smart phones. Hell, I’m not even sure I had a mobile phone at all. I certainly didn’t carry a puncture repair or a tool kit. But I’d make 30 mile round trips (although often much shorter) out of these routes: taking me up to Yarn Mound in Boars Hill, down into Sunningwell and back along the Thames through Kennington. Always looking for a new route down into a valley or making an unrealised connection to a previous trip in order to piece the entire area together in my mind.

Ironically the only time I ever seriously injured myself cycling was doing something completely different. And much closer to home. I was showing off to a girl (I know…) by spinning my back wheel on a wet, mossy bridge when it suddenly got traction and went flying off forwards leaving me flailing behind. I fell onto my hands and side and at first could only feel the bruising on my hip. However, I quickly felt faint and started to notice the pain in my hand. A few days later, my hand had swollen to the size of a grapefruit and it turned out I had a spiral fracture of my first metacarpal. Basically my body had spun 180 degrees on hitting the ground. My finger had not.

I still get a huge thrill from riding my mountain bike nearly 20 years later. There is very little I would rather do with the occasional free afternoons I get than head to Bracknell Forest and navigate one of their official trails. I can easily be seen grinning from ear to ear while carving my way down one of the faster downhill sections. It’s also fantastic exercise in the sense that I do it for the joy. The burning that courses down my windpipe or flares up in my thighs on an uphill climb is just a happy by-product.

And so it makes me unbelievably happy that Piglet is sharing in this joy. Almost every day for the last 6 months: if you ask him what he wants to do on any given day it’s a bike ride (perhaps when it stops raining). Naturally this is not coincidence. He sees me cycle to work most days and has naturally adopted my enthusiasm for it as his own. But his own joy in it is spirit lifting.

I should point out, he can’t actually cycle yet. He has a wonderful Islabikes balance bike and has only started to glide along on it rather than just waddle with it between his legs. Although the progress has been rapid and he will now glide a significant distance with his legs lifted (particularly downhill) and I’m pretty sure when we finally put him on a bike with pedals (and no stabilisers, that’s important) he’ll have mastered it within minutes, such is his balance already.

We recently took his bike to Bracknell Forest. He’s clearly too little (and difficult to see for a start) to take on most of the trails out there. However, there is a “green” route which is designed for all ages and all abilities. It’s just a single mile of single track with a few berms (banked corners, think the Nurburgring of German racing fame) and small rollers (which Piglet calls ‘hills’). There are very few uphill or downhill gradients although there are sections where he just has to pick his feet up and glide down. He LOVED it! I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so happy. Granted he was a little cautious at first and complained that it was too bumpy. We also had to pull over a few times at the beginning as faster families (one’s that are using pedals rather than just Flintstonesque foot power). However once he got the wind in his hair, I could instantly see something had clicked. After finishing a complete loop we stopped for some water and, on his request, dived straight back in. On the second loop he had to stop every few hundred metres just to give me a hug, such was his delight.

Our original plan was to get him a proper bike for Christmas but if his enthusiasm continues like this we’ll struggle to wait that long. He’s already very jealous of other children on bigger bikes and talks endlessly about how he’ll join me on the most difficult (13 mile!) route as soon as he’s got pedals. One thing at the time, me thinks. That said, I do hope I can keep his enthusiasm for it up. I’m sure there will be bumps and scrapes as he progresses but his joy is something I want to keep alive as long as possible.