This morning, I wasn’t going to cycle. I had a late night last night (entirely my fault, browsing discussion forums) and really didn’t sleep that well. On top of that, my daughter woke up screaming at 4.45am, so I also had a really early start. I decided to commit cyclecide and drive to my local station instead. When I got outside, I found my wife had blocked me in with several sacks of rubbish and recycling. There were so many that if I took the trouble to move them, I’d be late for my train anyway. I did the only thing I could – dig deep and get on my bike.
I wasn’t “dressed” for it, at least not in my usual gear – and the thought of the final hill climb as I approach the mainline station filled me with dread. Jeans are not good for wicking away moisture, and we tubbies do tend to produce quite a lot of that. I set off, muttering.
After a minute, I remembered that I was on my bike, doing what I love. Curiously, this morning, I then noticed more cyclists on the road than I’d ever seen before. They were coming at me from all directions, and it was heartening to see. Is the message getting out there? I’ve only been doing this for 3 months, but I’d never seen so many people out and about at 6am.
I arrived at the station a little hot and sweaty, but not as much as I’d imagined. I’m not saying the kit I usually wear doesn’t do anything – it saved my life on the Tarka Trail in some atrocious storm weather this summer – but this morning, I learned that the most important thing is just to “be on your bike”. Nobody cares if you’re wearing Rapha Condor or not.