Cycling in lockdown

Here's an interesting state of affairs. The Prime Minister of the UK, Boris Johnson is feeling some heat at the moment. Not for his maladroit handing of the pandemic or Brexit, but because he decided to go for a bike ride at the weekend.

On the face of it this is because he did so at some distance from his home - seven miles to be exact - in the Olympic Park in East London. This at a time when COVID-19 is racing through Britain and we are being urged to stay at home to limit contacts with others.

There are a few exceptions to this guidance, one of which is exercise, which you are permitted to take once a day. Of course, being Britain, it's never that simple. Guidelines talk about staying local and the government's definition of this is 'your village, town or part of a city where you live' according to British Cycling.

The issue for many cyclists is that they probably have a more expanded view of 'local' than that. Firstly, you can get quite a long way in a relatively short amount of time on a bike - it's one of the delights of cycling. You can also take yourself away to quieter country lanes where there is less pollution, fewer irate drivers  up your backside, and fewer people to bump into generally. It's therefore healthier, which is sort of the point of exercise.

But, again, nothing is that straightforward in Britain. Johnson's outing on his bike creates a problem for the rightwing, bike-hating, car-worshipping media of this country. They love Johnson's Brexity ways and his colourful turn of phrase, but can't he just ditch the bike?

To be fair to Johnson, who I have little time for, he has fought the corner for cyclists. He has ridden a bike in London for years, despite the ridicule that comes with it. He appointed a cycling Tsar to improve cycling infrastructure in the capital. His government has spoken of the importance of active travel, including cycling, since the pandemic, and has backed up this talk with funds.

However, his cheerleaders in the press - Hitchens, Littlejohn, Clarkson, Coren, the usual suspects - are casual in their abuse of people on bikes. The grumpy old men (it's always men) 'other' cyclists, relying on stereotypes about Lycra, midlife crises, more money than sense, highway code avoidance, and non-Road Tax payment (yes, I know it doesn't exist).

I've never quite understood the depth of hatred focused on bikes by some people. For a certain segment of society there is nothing more infuriating than a fitter middled-aged man (as they usually are) on a bike passing a fatter middle-aged man in a car. It's not even ridicule, which wouldn't bother me. I don't care that you think I look stupid in a contour hugging outfit. Laugh your teeth out - I'm off for a ride.

The abuse of the commentariat seems to imply that anyone on a bike is a slightly left of centre/liberal type a la Jon Snow or Jeremy Vine. Either that or a self-centred, arrogant, and abusive bell-end who things rules don't apply to them. Cycling is a shibboleth - a sign that cyclists are different from everyone else.

Or maybe right wingers just can't comprehend how anyone who has the wherewithal wouldn't just drive everywhere. Margaret Thatcher thought anyone who used public transport was a loser - similar mindset. 

There's an interesting comparison to be made here with another sport - one of the few that you can still do during lockdown. And that's angling. While we're reaching for stereotypes, I'd hazard a guess that the typical fisherman (they're mostly men, right?) is a working class, conservative with a small 'c', car driver. I'd also hazard a guess that a reason angling is still allowed is because it's a relatively easy sop to the kind of working class votes that Tories are anxious to keep in former Red Wall seats for example.

But here's a thing. I've got no beef with anglers, but my guess is that most of them don't live within walking distance of a fishing hole, so they will probably drive there, which when it comes to holier than thou screeching about the iniquities of lockdown, 'drives' some folk up the wall. Will there be outraged columns in the Mail, Times and Telegraph about how anglers are taking the piss (as there inevitably will be about cyclists - they're in the post)? What do you think?

On the issue of 'what's local?' police minister, and former Mayor Johnson sidekick, Kit Malthouse, has apparently okayed rides of 70 miles if you can do it. That's probably a bit more than I'll be doing at this stage in lockdown, but it shows he has an awareness of what a good ride is - he must have learned from his boss. There are plenty of serious cyclists who can manage those sorts of distances, and who can mend punctures and mechanicals, or find their way home if they don't.

It's worth remembering what this is about. Exercise is 'a good thing', particularly cardiovascular exercise. There were concerns during the first lockdown about people delaying contacting doctors over heart attacks and cancer - two of the biggest killers, and ones which we won't be able to wish away with a vaccine. Life has to go on, albeit within new constraints for the moment, and we have to bear in mind longer term health concerns among the population.

It would be a shame if Boris Johnson's ongoing enthusiasm for two-wheeled transport harmed the thing he loves. Think about that on your next Covid-secure pedal, and ride safely.

Infirm

A strange thought popped into my head a few days ago - I wish I had started cycling 10 years earlier.
It's not that I think that extra ten years would have helped me to become a better/faster/stronger cyclist, although it probably would. It's just that when you find something you enjoy at my age, there's a mental date at which you can already see when you won't be able to do it any more. I'm mourning something that hopefully is a long way off yet - that's a bit mad isn't it?
This pessimism has been exacerbated no doubt by a recurrence of a knee problem that seems to flair up every now and then. It's a swelling that prevents my leg from having its full range of flexibility, strength or stability.
Particularly galling this time is the fact that it has just popped up with no apparent reason. In the past, it has been traced to overdoing exercise, or doing exercise badly, or a twist of some sort. This time, I could feel a slight swelling and knew it was coming on, but couldn't think what the cause was.
For the past week this has resulted in me hobbling about in various states of discomfort and pain just wishing it would go away. It has trashed my bike riding plans, including one off road event last Sunday that I was really looking forward to.
At roughly the same time, I've developed an ache in my right arm which makes it feel weaker when called on to lift something. At this age, we tend to joke all the time about 'falling to bits', but it's starting to feel like that to me.
But should it?
At the weekend, I bumped into an old neighbour who I haven't seen for a couple of years since he moved from our street. During the usual exchange of pleasantries, I mentioned my leg and he spoke about problems he had before going on to reveal that he was in remission from cancer. He actually looked very well, and was incredibly positive about things, telling me he was planning a walk across Scotland as a fundraiser and celebration of his health.
Another friend has been beset with health problems recently, yet seems to take things in his stride. He is remarkably upbeat about his various ailments and impending procedures. Why can't I be more like that, rather that being so catastrophic about things?
When I was younger and dafter, I used to make declarative statements about how I would give a year of my life to be able to play guitar like folk-rock guitar hero Richard Thompson. (Obviously, if I was that bothered, I could have practised harder, got some lessons, or applied myself a bit more. However, that wouldn't have had the same grandstanding effect for my attention-seeking younger self.)
That seems fairly asinine now (In my 20s, I also used to claim that by the time I was 30 I'd have stopped drinking. I'll let you guess how well that's going.) If I was prepared to give up any portion of my life now - and I'd rather not thanks - then it would be for a slightly nobler, although in some ways, equally selfish end, such as for my family, especially my children.
Of course, even in these troubled times we live in a reasonably safe and stable society where we're not required to make heroic sacrifices. We're better placed to help those we love by doing the dull and predictable - bringing home the bacon, helping children with their homework, teaching them to be decent human beings.
That's the more important stuff, and something that my growing array of minor inconveniences hopefully won't stop me from achieving. I hope to be around for a while yet, even if it's in a less functional capacity. I'm off to the physio this afternoon.
A better bike would definitely help though.

Mamil in training

I am a cliche in many ways - middle-aged dad, wannabe foodie, aspirant craft ale aficionado, ageing rocker... the list goes on. And I can now add another entry to my list of affectations, having recently bought a road bike.

Day rider: Lycra free on Mersea Strood

My last bike prior to moving to Colchester was a drop handle-barred Dawes racer that I got for Christmas when I was about 12 or 13. I can date it to this age because I remember hearing, from my sister, that my dad had ridden it home from one of the town's bike shops about a week before, and hidden it in the garage until the big day.
I didn't have that bike for that long after he died. It went missing during one of the first summer holidays that I ever took on my own. Well, with a mate actually. Tim Higgins and I cycled 40 miles to Billing Aquadrome with rucsacs on our backs and various bits of camping equipment strapped to our frames. It was the summer of Freeez's top smash AEIOU* and we planned a week away from home in a two man tent before cycling home.
It didn't quite work out like that as both of our bikes were nicked by a couple of other lads. A bit of detective work from Tim ensured that they were soon bang to rights, and for the next couple of years I would receive intermittent cheques for a fiver through the post to cover the cost of my bike, which they'd chucked into the nearby river. After that I was bikeless for years.
On moving to Essex, I bought a second hand bike from Re-Cycle which I've used ever since, firstly to tow a child trailer when the kids were younger, and now they're older and can cycle themselves, on excursions around the area.

Pulling wheels: pre-Mamil set up

There are some great bike rides around Colchester, and Essex generally is a great cycling area - lots of country lanes to get lost in, the coast to head out to, and it's relatively flat too. In the past year I've been exploring a bit on my clunky old hybrid, but I've been eyeing up a racer and recently bought one.
So this is what it's all about. It weighs about half as much as my old bike, and its tyres are about a third of the width. Combined with cleats and that childish conviction that you run faster in new shoes, it has been an eye opener how much more performance you get. I think the turning point for me was when I was struggling up a hill during the summer and a portly chap on a racer breezed past me. Now I'm not the fittest person in the world, but I wasn't having it that his less than lithe frame disguised an Olympian only slightly gone to seed. Lance Armstrong might have pointed out that it wasn't all about the bike, but he didn't have to ride my Raleigh Max.
Now there are no excuses, apart from laziness, and the nights drawing in, and the lack of Lycra...
Actually, there's always more gear you could have it seems. I'm not even in the foothills of Mamilia yet. No Garmin, no Go-Pro, no Oakleys, not even much Lycra to be honest. The bulk of my riding kit has come from Aldi's bike week. No Rapha here yet. Oh well, Christmas is around the corner.
I can see how this can become addictive though. I'm looking for excuses to hang out in Halfords to check out what I might need, or just to chat to the guys who work there - I bet they get a lot of bike pests. It's like that stage in a man's life when you suddenly start to find B&Q to be an Aladdin's cave of possibility - there's stuff in there you didn't know existed, let alone desired.
I'm actually a bit guilty about buying the bike from Halfords as there is a great local bike shop where they are unfailingly helpful and polite. It's also very near me. However, I was swayed by an entry level Boardman - local bike shop didn't have a massive range, and I didn't spot anything that attracted me.
To add insult to injury, I took out a three year service plan with the chain - at £40 it was too good an offer to turn down. Please forgive me god of independent traders. I shall bring the kids' bikes to you for service and repair - and my clunker!
I shall try to get over the guilt I feel as I set my eyes on a challenge for next summer - the Dunwich Dynamo. I've been aware of it for about 10 years, although bizarrely I never saw it set off from London Fields despite living there for more than a decade. Next year I'm hoping to be one of the hundreds setting off into the sunset to cover 200 km overnight towards the Suffolk coast. I'm a  long way off that yet, but a few other would-be Mamils have expressed an interest, which should mean that I don't back out. I want to do this. Just need more gear, and possibly a TUE.

* Freeez's video has some great shots of Eighties London inner city cycling culture. No Raleigh Grifter required.

On our bikes

With number one son getting ready to start school, I decided that I didn't want to drive him there every day. His school is around 1.5 miles away, which is a little too far for his little legs, even with his Micro scooter, on which he is a whizz.

Having researched a few options, I decide that the best was a bike trailer. His younger brother will start nursery soon, so we bought one that can accommodate them both. We actually bought this before we had bought the bikes needed to tow it. These eventually came from a great little charity in Colchester called Re-Cycle.

It collects old bikes and does them up before sending them off to Third World counties. They also recondition bikes that you can buy here, to cover their costs. Not only is it a great charity, but you can also pick up some fantastic bargains. The bikes go through a 20-30 point check and can be practically like new.

We picked up two bikes - a Raleigh mountain bike/hybrid type for me, and a sit up and beg style ladies bike for my wife. Together they cost less than the trailer itself. Both seem to have new or almost new tyres, came with a three month guarantee, and that all important accessory, a bell.

Although I have cycled off and on since I was a kid, this is actually the first bike I have owned since I was about 17.`1

The school run has turned out to be a great little trip to kick start the day. The school road gets fairly congested with traffic and you often have to park a few streets away, but with my vehicle I can navigate right to the school gates, or even inside.

I was a bit nervous about towing the trailer in traffic. A friend told me that they knew somebody who had given it up after having an unspecified accident. The roads to school are fairly major town roads with a few slightly hairy junctions and other obstacles to negotiate - narrowing of the road, traffic lights, crossings and so on. I took the bike out a few times before term started to get used to it, but there was no way to really prepare for the big day and rush hour traffic.

As it happens, I've been pleasantly surprised by the respect I'm given by drivers. I thought that my contraption would be viewed as a huge annoyance by psycho drivers, anxious to get by me. It's early days yet, but I haven't had any of that, and no road rage of any sort yet - thank you patient drivers of Colchester.

It's not stopping with me though. It was J's fifth birthday yesterday and his main gift from us was a bike. I can still remember the first bike I received, and it's heartening to report that he was as excited about his bicycle as I was with mine. Now we just need to get those stabilisers off and we can let the good times roll.

Starting school

I can remember my first day at school very clearly. Decked out in a tweedy jacket and shorts combo getting my picture taken on the doorstep with my best pal John.

Taxi: the school chariot

The thing I remember most about the day though was the reaction of another young boy, William, who was so freaked out that he ran away as we lined up in twos to enter the class. Well, we were only four years old, and the lining up was being done by a stern, uniformed janitor who everybody was still terrified of years later.

Dropping J off for his first day was an odd occasion. He's a confident and very sociable child, so I wasn't really expecting any problems, even though several of his nursery friends were off to a different school. He's doesn't really have a problem making friends, but I had underestimated how little he likes change.

As we arrived at the school to take him in, one of the classroom assistants was handing out name stickers. He usually only has one volume - booming - but this dropped to barely a whisper when she asked his name. I hadn't really got the requisite lump in my throat until then. Not when he reluctantly appeared for the first time in his full school uniform (complete with hastily shortened trousers - one leg each from me and Mrs HH), and not when we packed him and his brother into the bike trailer that is now his school taxi.

But the hoarse whisper really got to me and I was quite upset on the way out, especially as he had been unusually clingy that morning. I'm sure I wasn't alone. The first day of school is one of the classic growing up milestones. Lots of parents looked more anxious than their children on that day. I don't know why we were all fretting so... they were only in class for about two hours.

That was almost two weeks ago now, and it's safe to say that the school is still bedding them in fairly gently. This week he's staying for dinner and finishes at 2pm. It will be another week and a half before he's staying for a full day. I suppose it makes sense. Some of the children there are tiny and there are a few who still seem fairly upset by it all. Luckily for us J seems to be getting on okay, especially now that dinners are on the cards.

And that's another change from when I was at school. I never looked forward to my school meals. Lumpy tatties and gristly mince. Yuk!

Two wheels good

Mr Halford gives Colchester the thumbs up

Last night the Tour of Britain came to town. In my youth this was known as the Milk Race as it was sponsored by the Milk Marketing Board. However, this was abolished in  2002 and the Tour is currently sponsored by Halfords, the bike people.
Milk or no milk, it was the most exciting thing to hit Colchester since the severe winter snap. The town centre was closed to traffic to create a circular route up the High Street, down Head Street, along St John Street and up Queen Street.
The riders headed off at 7pm for an hour of cycling. Usually this timing would have ruled out my seeing it, but our young 'un had a massive unscheduled kip just before bed time, so there was no way he was going to sleep on time. His brother, by contrast, was shattered and practically crawled to bed.
This coincidence meant I was able to walk the five minutes to town with Baby A in his buggy. There was a decent crowd lining the streets on a beautiful, T-shirt wearing evening. (It has to be said that after a crap winter, the summer is shaping up to be lovely - end of long range forecast).
While the ToB as I believe it's called by fans, doesn't quite match the Tour de France as a spectacle, it wasn't half bad. The fact that the 40-50 cyclists were racing round a tight, street circuit, helped. They were whooshing past about every minute once the leaders had lost the peloton, so there was plenty to see.
Mr Halford was there for photo opportunities and various cheerleaders were handing out flags promoting prostate cancer awareness, and inflatable Halfords' hands (I didn't get one of these unfortunately).
There was a cracking sound system on the high street, keeping the crowd buzzed with fast beats (not sure if that is the proper term for the toons. Young people, please help!), and a helpful MC informing us who was doing well. I can't remember any names, apart from one chap from Holland, who was almost obligatorily labelled the Flying Dutchman. Not to be confused with mobile chippy that frequents my old home town - the Frying Dutchman.
Little 'un loved it and was spontaneously applauding the riders as they whizzed by. And after all that excitement, I'd like to say that he was as shattered as his brother and slept like a log.
I'd like to say it, but unfortunately he was his usual screamy, wakeful self, and had me up by 5.30am.
Beside that, a good evening was had by all. Come back to Colchester soon ToB!

Strictly come cycling

Easy rider

I finally got round to testing the Boris bikes today. The nearest ones to Hackney aren't actually that near so it meant a trip down Kingsland Road to the Geffrye Museum where there is a rack in nearby Falkirk Street.

First impressions were favourable. There were plenty of bikes to choose from and they all seemed to be in good condition. Rightly or wrongly I'd expected that they would already be showing the signs of unwanted attention from vandals and drunkards, but the docking station itself was well kept and the bikes looked very impressive in their serried ranks. These ones hadn't been stickered either.

The process of obtaining one was pretty straightforward too. You just insert your key into the docking station, wait for a green light and you're away. The bikes are pretty robust but not uncomfortable. The seat is easy to adjust to the required height, the chain is enclosed so your trousers won't get caught in it, and the seat is padded and sufficiently wide to accommodate most bottoms. They also have built in lights which flash funkily as you ride along, drum brakes which were efficient without throwing you over the handlebars, and a 'basket' at the front for strapping in a bag or coat. They also have a stand.

There are three gears which ranged from the hilariously frenzied - ideal for getting off at lights - to a decent third which made me feel I could actually get the beast moving at a decent pace. I was actually able to overtake a few people on their own bikes. They were probably in a more leisurely frame of mind than me as I raced to the next docking station to ensure I stayed within the 30 minute free window. It's actually remarkably easy to do as the stations are thick on the ground in central London. There were also plenty of bikes at all stations apart from Clerkenwell Road where only two were left. Maybe this is due to the difficulty of hiring the bikes. Unless you have a key (not that difficult to apply for and they only cost £3) you still can't use the bikes. I'm sure the casual use scheme will be up and running by summer and by then I can't imagine it will be so easy to get hold of a bike, on a sunny Sunday afternoon for example.

I did go a bit bananas on the first leg with the result that when I descended the bike my legs were as jellyish as Simon Pegg's character in Run Fat Boy Run (filmed partly in Dalston actually) after his first spinning class. I took it easier after that and cycled from Kingsland Road to Borough Market, then on to the Royal Festival Hall for lunch before heading back through the West End, Bloomsbury, Old Street and back to Falkirk Street.

The overriding sensation was how being on a bike really shrinks the city. It was Saturday so traffic was probably lighter, but I was getting around much quicker than I would have done on any other mode of transport. Also, although the bike is hardly a design classic, I didn't feel as much of a plonker as I thought I would, and saw lots of other people on Boris bikes.

Overall, I can't think of much negative to say, apart from the fact that they don't extend very far into East London. If Boris really does intend to be a mayor of the whole city and not just the West part, I hope that this changes very quickly. There should already be a stream of them leading up to the Olympic site to get people used to the idea of visiting what is for many a strange part of town. Let's be 'aving 'em!