Tube in the rain

Eugh, this morning I took ... the tube.

With Reg in the shop I had no option. I managed to cadge a lift to the local Piccadilly line station and climbed aboard for a three-stop ride.

First I realised I had no money on my Oyster card, so I duly topped it up before stepping through the gates. I near slid down the stairs coated in the muddy slime of thousands of shoes before getting onto the platform. What met me was a scene reminiscent of Shaun of the Dead. Zombified commuters stood around looking depressed and avoiding each others' eyes. Many were shuffled near the edge of the covered section ready to dash though the raindrops in an attempt to reach the less crowded carriages once the train arrived. I joined them.

The train came in, already packed and with windows steamed up with the germs of those inside. The mass clamber began as people tried, with forced, and very British, politeness to push past each other and get to the slightly emptier carriages.

I managed to get on and memory served me with the method for folding a Metro twice to get it as tiny as possible so you can read it without bumping anyone.

At the next station more and more people oozed into the carriage until you couldn't actually move. Then at Acton Town an announcement said the train on the opposite platform was leaving first. Cue a mad dash to cross the four metres of wet asphalt with men in suits battling teenagers in skinny jeans. I stayed where I was knowing from my dark commuter past that it only saves about two minutes in the long run and I only had one stop to go.

I got to Hammersmith and joined the queue to climb the stairs. I escaped the tube and limped into McDonalds exhausted by it all.

God I miss my bike.

Pootling and the best cat

Firstly I must announce that Mr Weenie is the best cat.*

I came home last night to not one but two pairs of new shoes, some uber funky trainers and some gorgeous ballet flats, both of which I'd been looking at and decided I shouldn't buy as Reg needs work doing. Sigh. What a man.

Anyhoo, back to pootling. Part of Reg's issue at the moment is that he's a bit confused about which gear he's on. He's one gear out in either direction depending on his mood. The result of all this is a feeling of complete liberation.

Normally I gauge my fitness and leg strength by my commuting gear but not that that option is out I just go with what feels comfy at the time. Shockingly this has, in fact, reduced my commuting time some mornings and improved my mood immeasurably.

Sometimes I pootle along feeling like a slow coach only to realise I'm hitting 20mph but because I'm not conscious of the fact it's all the easier. Sometimes I am in fact going very slowly but I don't care. Added to the gear issue is the drop in the number of cyclists. With no one to race against and precious few of the 'all the gear, no idea' crew willing to brave the icy winds I have no one to race against and no one to teach a speed lesson to when they've annoyed me.

What shocks me about cycling is how often my own views on things change and evolve. In a year and a half I've gone through timid, aggressive, law-bending to strict law adherence until I've found a style that suits.

Life change through cycling, how zen.


*The best cat means the best thing ever. The term evolved from inter-family rivalry about who had the best feline friend as three of us own cats but is now used for all things fabulous.

Sorting the wheat from the chaff...

Or more bike parking for me.

This morning there was just one other bike in the rack I normally use. We have other ones round the back and there were a couple in them but there are very few cyclists left.

On the plus side the waiting time for the showers has reduced dramatically and I have my pick of he bike stands. I'm also given the look of awe by some as I stride in in lycra on frosty mornings.

On the down side, it's bloody cold out there. However, my problem is not one of chilly extremities, rather it is of sweaty hotness. Piling on the layers is all well and good when you set off, puffing clouds of steam and thanking the Lord for those fleecy leggings you nearly didn't buy. Halfway to work though you've worked up some body heat and you're dripping with sweat. You can't be arsed to pull over because you've only got 15 minutes left to ride so you struggle on encased in a cocoon of clammy lycra.

You alternate between keeping those toasty gloves on and taking the damn things off for short periods when you become like a furnace.

Then when you get to work you sit red-faced in a t-shirt while colleagues pull their cardigans around them in a vain attempt to get warm.

Roll on spring.

Envy retro stylee

There was a woman on a Chopper on my commute this morning.

Yes, a Chopper.

It was clearly one from some distance because of the unique seat shape etc and the fact it was tiny small. She had the Vans and surfer-style mess of hair that meant she was obviously deeply cool and I must admit that rather than scoff I was envious.

She couldn't go terribly fast but was cruising rather than pootling, exuding the sense that she would get there when she got there and to chill out speed freaks.

Reg was the equivalent of a bowler hat and pinstripe suit in comparison to her Juicy Couture tracksuit of a bike. Her bike is probably called India or Hiawatha or something that can be shortened to C or whatever the first letter of its name is. In fact, it's probably so cool it doesn't even have a name.

I think my sense of uncoolness was magnified by my new 'Sam Browne' a reflective belt around the waist and over the shoulder. Following the accident I'm a bit nervous about being seen. I'm sure my desire to look like a clown will end eventually but for now I look like a Mexican goalkeeper.

Car-bike interface

It's finally happened: I've had an accident.

I can't go into full details yet as, although I'm fairly sure nothing will come of it, but it involved rain obscuring visibility, a late indicator because someone was lost, wet leaves causing skiddage and Reg and I survived with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises.

Lessons I have learned:

• Wear hi-vis, it's ridiculous looking but makes a massive difference.
• Leaves do not care about you, your new brakes or your welfare, they will still increase your braking distance considerably.
• Traffic wardens will attempt to ticket drivers who have pulled over to see if you're ok.
• Lying in the road is very embarrassing.
• My handlebars are magnetically attracted to my inner thighs and determined to cause massive purple bruising therein.
• I don't swear when under that kind of pressure.
• The driver will be in shock and incredibly distressed.
  
• Sometimes shit happens.