As you may have gathered from recent posts I've been allowing the inner racer in me take over a little too often. Every cyclist's a target, from the granny with a basket to the man in a lycra body condom on a carbon dream machine.
If there are no cyclists around it's pedestrians and cars. All in all it's just getting a bit silly.
Last night though, I was forced to embrace my inner pootler. On top of my usual stuff for work I was carrying a lot of jazz music and it was HEAVY. I balanced the two panniers but it was a bit like cycling through treacle. My legs felt heavy and I couldn't change gears with my usual ease.
I watched with envy as people skidaddled past at top speed but, after a while, I began to feel a bit more serene about it all. I glided along, rehearsing jazz lyrics in my head (and occasionally out loud) and still got to my parents' house in plenty of time for the rehearsal. Rather than arrive in an adrenaline-fuelled frenzy I was calm. I had a cup of tea, changed into jeans and, when they arrived, rehearsed.
Afterwards I headed home up the massive hill and continued pootling. It was most enjoyable until the roundabout near home. Why must a few nasty teenagers ruin it for everyone else? Why throw what I think may have been a full beer can at my front wheel while I'm cycling? Why?
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