I plan to do a bit of cycling in preparation for going up Kili. I used to jog, but doubt I could manage it now, so cycling might provide me with a bit of aerobic exercise during the next few months.
I have always wanted to have a bike, and can remember how jealous I was of my sister Leslie, when she was given a shiny new blue tricycle – not me! I was probably about two years old at the time and Leslie seventeen months older. The adults were concerned about Leslie’s physical co-ordination, and thought riding the trike would improve this. So my aim in life became to get on her trike when no-one was looking. I would jump on and ride off – or show off on it, whenever I got a chance. Although it was always referred to as Leslie’s bike, I think I probably got more use from it, until we both got too big for it and it was handed down to our little brother.
When I was four, I had a boyfriend who lived down the road called Peter. Peter had a trike and he was willing to let me stand on the back of his trike with my hands on his shoulders, while he sat in the saddle madly pedalling. He could get up quite a speed on the pavement and we had a whale of a time racing round like this together. In these days there was very little traffic around and it was considered safe enough to let children play in the street without supervision.
All went well until he took a corner too fast and I went flying off, resulting in a broken left arm for me. His family emigrated to Australia shortly afterwards – I assume this was not connected to my accident!
For my seventh birthday, I finally got my own bike. It was a small second hand one and I was thrilled. I remember learning to ride this two wheeler in the back garden, regularly tumbling over into the hedge of roses, which separated our garden from our neighbours. Within a few months I was proficient and was allowed out to ride with my friends up the park and around country lanes. So long as we turned up at mealtimes this was considered fine.
By the time I was ten, I had outgrown that bike, and I got my eye on a bike called a “Pink Witch” which was for sale for £23 in the window of the local bike shop. I had saved up a few pounds: my grandparents used to give me a pound every Christmas and birthday and my great aunt would give me ten shillings. I wanted my parents to make up the difference as my eleventh birthday present.
Well I did get a new bike – but not the Pink Witch! A pink bike was considered far too gaudy, so I got a tasteful dark blue one instead – I remember it cost £21. I was happy – I had my freedom – I was off!
I have always had bikes since then. I have never been a spectacular cyclist, but I love the feeling of movement and of the wind whistling past. I cycled to work most of my working life: what a joy. I have always thought I was so lucky in this respect compared to people stuck in tube trains and buses
And now I have a lovely pale blue bike – not very tasteful, but who cares? I was upset when my previous bike was nicked from outside a friend’s house in November, but am delighted to have a replacement now. A bit of riding around might help in getting me as fit as I can get for the Kili Climb.
