I have cycled for my the majority of my life (who hasn't?), starting out on a trusty Raleigh Budgie at some point in the late seventies before moving on to a much loved and ridden to death Falcon Pro BMX (usually ridden flat out whilst bellowing music from one Star Wares film or another). From there, I graduated into the inevitable mountain bikes of the nineties (including a very 'of it's time' purple Ridgeback that, I assure you, was quite the thing in its day). Cycling became a means for my teenage self to get around London without the crowds or sluggish pace of the bus or tube, feeling some sort of Hot Rod joy at streaking through gridlocked traffic. Somewhere in my early twenties, I became obsessed with BMX's again and reverted back to a beautiful We The People street bike that I thrashed to death over many years of riding around London despite the constant barrage of abuse and amusing comments about my bike being too small for me.
In my late thirties, I finally gave up on London, moved to the seaside, met a beautiful woman who foolishly decided to marry me, bought a very lovely Tokyo CS and was more than happy to roll up with the rest of the Sunday riders at the London to Brighton and parade my way to the finish line. Life was lovely and, as always, a bike was a huge part of my overall well being.
Then I decided to enter the London 100 and everything changed.
Looking back now, there is nothing like the sheer joy of riding a bike for the pure pleasure of it. No Garmin, no quiet appraisal of other people's frames, kit, wheels, glasses and so on... No dagger to the heart when the dreaded email arrives to tell you that you've been robbed of your (one and only) Strava KOM.
Somewhere on that Sunday in 2015, that joy shifted.
Heaving a steel framed city bike with its unusually small wheels through London and Surrey, over Leith Hill, Box Hill and that last agonising push over whatever bastard hill that is in Wimbledon was a challenge. Streaking past people on expensive carbon framed bikes in full kit, however, was thrilling. Realising how much faster I would be on a road bike, properly kitted out and with some focused training was the point at which joy became obsession.
A moment that I'm sure many of you will be familiar with.
As I said, I don't so much enjoy riding bikes as having ridden them. They're a part of my life, I can measure periods of change by what I was riding. I can measure the growth of my family by how many bikes are cluttering hallways, lean to's and lofts. I love being a part of a culture that has shaped the history of the country in sporting and social terms. I love those moments when I sweep down a descent and the child inside me suddenly clamours to make engine noises at the sheer thrill of the speed. I love that I have passed that joy onto my son and that he doesn't care what hunk of junk he rides, he just wants to go as far as he can as fast as he can.
For me, riding bikes has become 'cycling'. An obsession. An uneasy bedfellow with rum consumption, the only other sport I am good at. It's something I make myself do even when my body doesn't want to, something I monitor through statistics and structured training, something hideously compelling.
These days, I ride a very lovely, slavishly maintained Bianchi that tortures my calves, thighs and back. It was recently treated to some very expensive wheels and has a very extravagant bike computer hanging from the front. It is, without exaggeration, better dressed than me and must be the most beautiful torture device ever to set rubber to tarmac (but then everyone says that about their own bike, don't they?).
I ride it because I am compelled to push myself further and go as far and fast as my bike deserves to, regardless of how much it hurts. Somewhere in the recess of my mind, lingering beneath the desire to reclaim that one precious KOM, I must be aware that one day this Bianchi and the things I achieve on it will be added to the long list of bikes I have ridden rather than ride. Then, I will love it as dearly as that first Raleigh and every other bike that has helped to shape and better my life.
However, there is a lot of cycling between here and there.
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