I think there is an international conspiracy to stop me cycling to work. Yesterday both my vehicles broke down (again). This seems uncannily unlucky and, as I am one of those sad people who personifies their car (my van is Vincent Vernon Van Rouge), I am wondering if there is some kind of skulduggery going on in the garage between bike and van after dark. Vernon might be feeling neglected with my new-found love affair with two wheels not four, but he need not fear – I can’t sleep in my bike (can I?).
Anyhow – went to work this morning in a very large truck with Vernon on the back having a lovely chat (me, not Vernon) with a man with six kids and an admirable attitude to the commuters who seemed to be getting quite cross at us blocking their morning rat run. This means that once again I have had to squeeze in a ride after work and I have to admit, this is quite tricky as all the other things in life (cleaning, eating, de-knotting the cat, doing my son’s homework, packing my dive kit etc) have to be put on hold.
So this evening I have to admit I was not keen – the mind and body were rebelling, the stress levels were screaming, the “to-do” list has become a Shakespearean epic and the teenager was moaning about his never-ending unquenchable hunger that he can’t possibly do any thing about. But forty minutes was all it took – in forty minutes I passed ancient wells and walls, stocks, a ginnel, a mill, a cooperative building, a curlew, some chickens, a hairy cow and a hungry horse. The moors were calling me and I all I could think about was that maybe I need fatter tyres, less fear and a lesson in mountain biking. I felt good.
I like this biking malarkey – it’s good for my soul.
Newsflash : 30 day pledge ends abruptly when horse eats handlebars.