A large, black, brand new Mercedes Benz with tinted windows and windscreens, reg. "I CEO" forced me to stop today - he (or she!) wanted to turn into a hand-car wash place in Cheetham Hill, and rather than wait, overtook me and cut me off.
Annoyed? A little bit. Contempt for personalised number plates? Only when coupled with arrogance and lack of consideration. Another number for my collection: WWII - was it a Bentley or a Rolls? Can't remember. An old man at the wheel, looking smug.
15 March 2007
24 February 2007
Cycling with my daughter
My daughter, who has been bike-shy for most of her 10 years of age, is finally showing signs of being interested. To be fair, I'm partly to blame - too overprotective and risk-averse when it comes to my children. Last September she had asked to be taken riding, we went to Dunham Massey - she is weary of the road, and I have done little to build her confidence.
Today we went to nearby playing fields where there is a cycle path of about 1/2 mile that meanders past Bury cemetery (next to Gigg Lane, the home of the mighty Shakers!) and the river. We spent an hour and both enjoyed it. The catalyst has been a school 'cycling profficiency' test coming up - now she is talking about going to school on her bike every day! We'll see.
22 February 2007
Momentum thieves
Think of all the little things that rob you of your momentum - sometimes with a good excuse, sometimes without one. Drivers don't see you coming down the hill and instinctively pull closer to the kerb when traffic gets heavy and cars begin to queue. The pedestrian traffic light at the bottom of the slope, that makes you stop then begin your ascend from scratch. The polite drivers that stop to let other drivers take a right turn or cross the junction - without checking first that you are alongside them or slightly behind, so you have to screech to a halt, or risk being run-over. The school-run mum whose method for joining the main road traffic is to barge in with her kid-laden people-carrier, confident a polite driver will, hey, let her in: twice I've nearly crashed into one of those. My anger is almost all reserved, though, for those drivers who see you and think "can I make my left turn ahead of the biker?... yeah, I can" - if they are kind enough to rev their engine you get some warning, otherwise the first you know is when you stamp yourself against the side of their car, or end up under their wheels, or up-ended on the tarmac.
19 February 2007
On Nigel Havers and wrong battles
Nigel Havers, the erstwhile TV hearthrob and self-appointed anti-cyclist campaigner, wrote in June last year a diatribe against cyclists in which many gross and sweeping generalisations are made.
Havers' fundamental mistake is to align moral and ethical traits to forms of transport (cycling, driving, walking, jogging) rather than to individuals. Not all cyclists are the reckless thugs Havers depicts - just as not all pedestrian (or indeed drivers) are shining examples of highway-side virtue. Indeed, most cyclists are also pedestrian and motorists!.
Good old Nigel is fighting the wrong battle - he'd do better to direct his fire against bad road users, and in aid of responsible, considerate road users. He would also do well to acknowledge that, in the UK today, when it comes to road design and 'systems' (how traffic lights work, the location, layout and length of bike lanes), cars and pedestrians are taken into consideration far more than bicycles are. This forces even the most civilised cyclists to take the occasional shortcut. I can own up to this, though I like to think never if it involves putting anyone at risk - and always with good manners that aren't always matched by the pedestrian or motorist involved.
How many pedestrians would happily choose to throw themselves under the wheels of an oncoming car or lorry? Nor out of a suicide wish, but fully expecting to live to tell the tale? And yet, this is what people in Manchester city centre do to me every day - just because I'm on a bike, and therefore under the radar for them - either they don't see I'm there (even if I've got more lights than a Xmas tree) or they actually ignore me.
The junction of Market St. and Fountain/High St. is a notable troublespot, as pedestrians take no notice of the traffic lights. I find that my best bet is to hope a big van or taxi makes the crossing my way, so I can tag along, rather like following an ice-breaker ship.
Havers' fundamental mistake is to align moral and ethical traits to forms of transport (cycling, driving, walking, jogging) rather than to individuals. Not all cyclists are the reckless thugs Havers depicts - just as not all pedestrian (or indeed drivers) are shining examples of highway-side virtue. Indeed, most cyclists are also pedestrian and motorists!.
Good old Nigel is fighting the wrong battle - he'd do better to direct his fire against bad road users, and in aid of responsible, considerate road users. He would also do well to acknowledge that, in the UK today, when it comes to road design and 'systems' (how traffic lights work, the location, layout and length of bike lanes), cars and pedestrians are taken into consideration far more than bicycles are. This forces even the most civilised cyclists to take the occasional shortcut. I can own up to this, though I like to think never if it involves putting anyone at risk - and always with good manners that aren't always matched by the pedestrian or motorist involved.
How many pedestrians would happily choose to throw themselves under the wheels of an oncoming car or lorry? Nor out of a suicide wish, but fully expecting to live to tell the tale? And yet, this is what people in Manchester city centre do to me every day - just because I'm on a bike, and therefore under the radar for them - either they don't see I'm there (even if I've got more lights than a Xmas tree) or they actually ignore me.
The junction of Market St. and Fountain/High St. is a notable troublespot, as pedestrians take no notice of the traffic lights. I find that my best bet is to hope a big van or taxi makes the crossing my way, so I can tag along, rather like following an ice-breaker ship.
09 February 2007
Nepal and Bangladesh
I have spent the better part of the last two weeks in Nepal (Kathmandu) and Bangladesh (Dhaka and Chittagong) - a work trip. Both countries, while very different in many ways, share some characteristics - their reliance on pedal power for transport being one of them!
In Kathmandu, where most roads are narrow, among the cars with horns blown and the motorbikes weaving in and out of traffic in near-suicidal manouvres, bicycles quietly reign with rickshaws common in the more central areas. The overwhelming majority of cycles are basic [fixed gear], even if in design about half of them resemble mountain bikes - the others appear to be 1950s designs. I am very impressed by the punishment these bikes take, especially for the way they are loaded with all sorts of things. Many carry a contraption that beats any UK panier bag - a set of twin 'cages' which attach to either side of the rear rack and can fit big gas or water cylinders. The bicycles with gears around are ridden by seemingly better off individuals - they have a tendency to ride on low gears, perhaps to show off how effortlessly they take to slopes as they ride uphill towards the outer parts of the city. Nobody except a handful of tourists and expats wears any helmets or protective gear, or lights. POllution masks, though, are common - as is a padded 'chest protector' - popular with motorbikers and cyclists alike, it is alleged it protects your chest... from the chill.
In Kathmandu, where most roads are narrow, among the cars with horns blown and the motorbikes weaving in and out of traffic in near-suicidal manouvres, bicycles quietly reign with rickshaws common in the more central areas. The overwhelming majority of cycles are basic [fixed gear], even if in design about half of them resemble mountain bikes - the others appear to be 1950s designs. I am very impressed by the punishment these bikes take, especially for the way they are loaded with all sorts of things. Many carry a contraption that beats any UK panier bag - a set of twin 'cages' which attach to either side of the rear rack and can fit big gas or water cylinders. The bicycles with gears around are ridden by seemingly better off individuals - they have a tendency to ride on low gears, perhaps to show off how effortlessly they take to slopes as they ride uphill towards the outer parts of the city. Nobody except a handful of tourists and expats wears any helmets or protective gear, or lights. POllution masks, though, are common - as is a padded 'chest protector' - popular with motorbikers and cyclists alike, it is alleged it protects your chest... from the chill.
Things are a little bit different in Bangladesh. A flat lowland and one of the world's poorest countries, here the rickshaw reigns supreme. From what I saw, it is the most common form of urban public transport. I tried one today. For all their colourfullness and the richness of their decoration, their design is extremely uniform. They are in essence reinforced tricycles. Pedals are often wooden. They have big metal bells, often on both sides. And not one that I saw had any lights. Some had bright red triangles painted on the back. Some had metal 'reflectors'. And one had ingenuously bolted an array of old CDs which shone under the lights of passing cars. Riding the rickshaws looks like hard work, especially on a full load - two adults and a child, with shopping. Not big adults, mind you: I could barely fit on the seat - in terms of depth, that is. Width-wise, two leand adults can sit comfortably - sadly, when I tried it with my collegue it became clear we would need two rickshaws.
I have a short clip of a rickshaw ride: part 1 and part 2. There are plenty more by other people in YouTube - better quality and longer. But this is my humble contribution. Watch out for the main road crossing and the overtaking rickshaw.
Photos taken by J. Ugonna (thank you!)
11 January 2007
Chinese torture
To ride through China Town at the end of the working day is torture. I do it most days, just when I'm beginning to feel hungry - I try not to eat anything after lunch and drop the afternoon snack so as to burn more fat when cycling. The downside is that the exercise opens my appetite, just when I'm pedalling through Manchester's prime concentration of food aromas. One day, I am minded, I will stop, chain my bike in the corner next to the Arch and jump into the nearest restaurant to have some fried rice, noodles or soup, peppered with chunks of chicken, beef or prawn in various sweet and sour or savoury sauces.
There are a couple of other places along my route where I get the whif of flavoursome food, but you can't beat China Town.
There are a couple of other places along my route where I get the whif of flavoursome food, but you can't beat China Town.
06 January 2007
Chased by an elephant
No: not a real elephant. It's just a trick I play on myself when I'm particularly tired and yet need to speed up not to be home too late. I imagine that an elephant is chasing me. I know, it sounds stupid, but it works - particularly on a dark winter night.
This is something I save for the home run, of course. There'd be no point in doing it to myself only to run out of steam, knees aching, before I've gone past Prestwich and turn into Oak Lane (Besses O'Th'Barn). But for those last 10' it works wonders. I can almost feel the elephant behind me, closing in. My pedalling becomes faster, I feel a lot more focused and aware, the leisurely rythm of the commuter disappears.
I don't know why it needs to be an elephant. It doesn't work the same with tigers or lions or wolfs (I've not tried rhinos... mmmhh).
This is something I save for the home run, of course. There'd be no point in doing it to myself only to run out of steam, knees aching, before I've gone past Prestwich and turn into Oak Lane (Besses O'Th'Barn). But for those last 10' it works wonders. I can almost feel the elephant behind me, closing in. My pedalling becomes faster, I feel a lot more focused and aware, the leisurely rythm of the commuter disappears.
I don't know why it needs to be an elephant. It doesn't work the same with tigers or lions or wolfs (I've not tried rhinos... mmmhh).
05 January 2007
A fox cub
I saw a fox cub on my travels. It was about 18.45, a bit foggy, traffic a bit quieter than usual as people go off on their Xmas break. I was going up towards Prestwich on Bury Old Road. I'd just crossed Sheepfoot Lane and had Heaton Park on my right and St Monica's RC High School on my left. Out of Heaton Park, wriggling through some padlocked gates, a fox cub came and stood on the pavement for a couple of seconds, looking left and right as if about to cross the road. It didn't - to my relief, as the road was quiet at that moment, but cars were coming from both directions. It just stood still for another moment, then wriggled back in and trotted off, into the fog and the stillness of the park at night.
29 December 2006
After the indulgence of Xmas time, part I
Today is my only day at work between 22nd Dec 06 and the 3rd Jan 07. I had been looking forward to my cycling to work. The Xmas indulgence has added 2Kg to my waistline! Days of drinking alcohol - moderate amounts... several times a day - eating croissants, cheese, olives, gammon, pork pies, pork crackling, pork pathe, turkey, sausages, roast potatoes, bruz sprouts, chocolate, mince pies, brandy butter, Xmas pud with rum sauce, etc, etc...
Despite hopes of an early start didn't leave home till 0845. A strong wind was blowing, with very nasty gusts that seemed to freeze me on the spot. A sharp shower here and there. All in all it was very hard going - at least there was very little traffic!.
The building receptionist greeted me on arrival with an update on the weather forecast, along the lines of "they say it's gonna be strong gales in the late afternoon". If it's a tail wind, I will not mind so much.
Despite hopes of an early start didn't leave home till 0845. A strong wind was blowing, with very nasty gusts that seemed to freeze me on the spot. A sharp shower here and there. All in all it was very hard going - at least there was very little traffic!.
The building receptionist greeted me on arrival with an update on the weather forecast, along the lines of "they say it's gonna be strong gales in the late afternoon". If it's a tail wind, I will not mind so much.
21 December 2006
Sheldon Brown, cycling guru
Right. He's not the world's best web designer. Nor has he got the best dress-sense. Nor is he -by his own admission - the only Sheldon Brown on the web. But for the aspiring cyclist who is looking for good technical advice written in a tone that is understanding without being condescending, Sheldon Brown is definitely worth a look. Two years since I started commuting by bike, I have found him enormously useful.
Ok, he's a Yank - but, having lived in France for a year in the late 80s, he's got just enough of an international outlook (admittedly, of the slightly Francophile kind - nobody is perfect). And he's a leftie and an atheist - but in this world of lies and half-truths I'll always have time for an honest, open-minded man. This chap seems to be just that.
Reading his diary as he battles a debilitating illness is - I mean this - a source of quiet inspiration.
Ok, he's a Yank - but, having lived in France for a year in the late 80s, he's got just enough of an international outlook (admittedly, of the slightly Francophile kind - nobody is perfect). And he's a leftie and an atheist - but in this world of lies and half-truths I'll always have time for an honest, open-minded man. This chap seems to be just that.
Reading his diary as he battles a debilitating illness is - I mean this - a source of quiet inspiration.
19 December 2006
Signalling
Tonight I was going up hill, standing on the pedals, both hands on the handlebars - and took a left turn. A white-van man revs the engine, follows me round the corner, catches up, lowers the window and shouts "do your hand signals you twat!". Nice one. Here's to you, fat, pathetic red-neck bastard!. I sincerely hope you grow painful blisters beneath your eyelids.
16 December 2006
My bikes
I got my 1st bike from the tip. I went to sling some garden debris and there it was, propped up against the wall.
I had been thinking about getting a 2nd hand bike, one I could leave outside the tram station without feeling I risked a cherished asset. One I could keep out in the patio overnight, rusting away.
This bike met all the criteria. It was rusty indeed, but looked otherwise OK - brakepads needed changing, sure, but everything else was in place. It was a cheap mountain bike with nobbly tyres and all. I took it home, cleaned it, oiled it, bought new pads and a lock. I started riding it to the tram station. The first day, the leather of the saddle was ripped off - and left by the side, just for fun. I didn't bother then with a new saddle - just put an Asda bag over the exposed foam of the seat. The 10' journey to/from the tram didn't seem worth the bother. When, in June 2005, I started cycling to work, I bought a new saddle.
At work, I had the option of leaving the bike in the building yard... but believe it or not, to save myself a 50-yard walk, I chose to leave it out on Whitworth Street. I was convinced that nobody would want to nick my rusty old bike.
Wrong. One night, only two weeks into my new life, I found they had taken... the rear wheel. I should have known. When I tried to find a 2nd hand rear wheel, I discovered that it was all a lot more complicated than I had ever thought. And expensive. So, old bike went back to tip, and I went to eBay to look for another cheap, expendable bike.
What I found was advertised as a hybrid - but turned out to be a mongrel of a bike. On a sunny July evening, I paid £46 cash to a taciturn, almost unfriendly bloke somewhere in the middle of the Cheshire countryside. He seemed to earn a living out of eBay, if ever anyone did - his patio and garage were full of stuff (I later checked and he had 400+ items on sale on eBay at that time - shame I didn't keep the details!). The bike was just big enough for me, blue with a purple handlebar that seemed slightly out of place. It had 10 gears, needed new brakes (again!) and new tyres - which I was slow to get, to my cost.
Things were OK during the summer, but in the rather wet autumn of 2005 things began to go wrong. Nothing that would have been beyond repair, but psychologically I began to lose confidence in my bike. One snowy evening in February 2006 my front tyre blew up, loudly. I had pumped up the tyre in the morning, and the old thing had given up, the inner tube eventually pushing its way out of the rim. I was left to chain the bike and, in the coldest night of the year, wait for the bus in defeat. But I still tried to give it a go. In the end, it was the rear wheel that did it. It seemed always to be off centre - eventually I realised it was slightly bent, and it just got worse. I gave up.
Disillusioned with my ability to get a decent bike 2nd hand off eBay, I resolved to take a loan from my employer (interest free, 1 year payback!) to buy a new bike. I cleared enough stuff from the garden shed to ensure I'd be able to store the bike. Then I went out looking.
What I got is a Dawes Tourismo 20Four . I bought it from the Biking Factory Shop in Prestwich (424, Bury New Rd). It's a cheaper hybrid/commuting bike. It sells on some websites for £160, I paid £136 incl. the rack. It's comfortable, though initially the gears were prone to jam and on one occasion the derailer, as a result of a jam, got entagled into the spokes of the rear wheel and caused severe damage. The chap in the shop dealt with it satisfactorily and at no cost to me, and I have not had any problems since (but I wonder if this is because I now keep to a reduced, 'safe' range of gears, which is probably no good for my knees in the long run).
I had been thinking about getting a 2nd hand bike, one I could leave outside the tram station without feeling I risked a cherished asset. One I could keep out in the patio overnight, rusting away.
This bike met all the criteria. It was rusty indeed, but looked otherwise OK - brakepads needed changing, sure, but everything else was in place. It was a cheap mountain bike with nobbly tyres and all. I took it home, cleaned it, oiled it, bought new pads and a lock. I started riding it to the tram station. The first day, the leather of the saddle was ripped off - and left by the side, just for fun. I didn't bother then with a new saddle - just put an Asda bag over the exposed foam of the seat. The 10' journey to/from the tram didn't seem worth the bother. When, in June 2005, I started cycling to work, I bought a new saddle.
At work, I had the option of leaving the bike in the building yard... but believe it or not, to save myself a 50-yard walk, I chose to leave it out on Whitworth Street. I was convinced that nobody would want to nick my rusty old bike.
Wrong. One night, only two weeks into my new life, I found they had taken... the rear wheel. I should have known. When I tried to find a 2nd hand rear wheel, I discovered that it was all a lot more complicated than I had ever thought. And expensive. So, old bike went back to tip, and I went to eBay to look for another cheap, expendable bike.
What I found was advertised as a hybrid - but turned out to be a mongrel of a bike. On a sunny July evening, I paid £46 cash to a taciturn, almost unfriendly bloke somewhere in the middle of the Cheshire countryside. He seemed to earn a living out of eBay, if ever anyone did - his patio and garage were full of stuff (I later checked and he had 400+ items on sale on eBay at that time - shame I didn't keep the details!). The bike was just big enough for me, blue with a purple handlebar that seemed slightly out of place. It had 10 gears, needed new brakes (again!) and new tyres - which I was slow to get, to my cost.
Things were OK during the summer, but in the rather wet autumn of 2005 things began to go wrong. Nothing that would have been beyond repair, but psychologically I began to lose confidence in my bike. One snowy evening in February 2006 my front tyre blew up, loudly. I had pumped up the tyre in the morning, and the old thing had given up, the inner tube eventually pushing its way out of the rim. I was left to chain the bike and, in the coldest night of the year, wait for the bus in defeat. But I still tried to give it a go. In the end, it was the rear wheel that did it. It seemed always to be off centre - eventually I realised it was slightly bent, and it just got worse. I gave up.
Disillusioned with my ability to get a decent bike 2nd hand off eBay, I resolved to take a loan from my employer (interest free, 1 year payback!) to buy a new bike. I cleared enough stuff from the garden shed to ensure I'd be able to store the bike. Then I went out looking.
What I got is a Dawes Tourismo 20Four . I bought it from the Biking Factory Shop in Prestwich (424, Bury New Rd). It's a cheaper hybrid/commuting bike. It sells on some websites for £160, I paid £136 incl. the rack. It's comfortable, though initially the gears were prone to jam and on one occasion the derailer, as a result of a jam, got entagled into the spokes of the rear wheel and caused severe damage. The chap in the shop dealt with it satisfactorily and at no cost to me, and I have not had any problems since (but I wonder if this is because I now keep to a reduced, 'safe' range of gears, which is probably no good for my knees in the long run).
14 December 2006
Goddess
A nordic goddess overtook me today. I was coming to Strangeways when she darted past me at incredible speed - blonde, blue-eyed, with a slight (natural) tan, her hair tied into a thick plat like that of a viking maiden. Clad in tight black and red lycra covering her from neck to ankles, she was an apparition, half Venus, half Minerva. Robust but shapely at the same time. A dream. Poetry on wheels. The stuff of songs.
I considered giving chase but my knees told me in no uncertain terms that that wasn't a possibility. I saw her disappear in traffic as I approached town.
I considered giving chase but my knees told me in no uncertain terms that that wasn't a possibility. I saw her disappear in traffic as I approached town.
12 December 2006
Attire
n.
Clothing or array; apparel.
Clothing or array; apparel.
To the relief of my friends and family, I'm not into Lycra. Lycra is for proper, real cyclists - the ones who train and compete, who time themselves, go out onto country lanes on weekends and take on challenges like the coast to coast. I've nothing against them - ok, a bit of envy as they whizz past me, but on the whole I am well disposed towards them, especially the ones who are polite (eg say 'good morning' at traffic lights), sensible (warn you when overtaking) and considerate (don't automatically jump red lights). One even stopped to assist me, once when I got a flat tyre in heavy rain. I thanked and explained I'd already rang my wife who was going to pick me up and drive me into work - I felt a bit like a Sancho Panza whose old mule has just died - and refuses help from Quixote in favour of the more practical sort.
But if lycra and with it the demenour of a serious cyclist are not for me, nor is the studied, fastidious carelessness of the 'blokes on bikes'. You know who I mean: hoodies and chavs who can't yet afford the spiced-up Ford Escort and have to make do with an expensive mountain bike or a rather impractical - but fashionable - stunt bike. Cycles for them are toys-plus; they prefer the pavement to the road, perhaps because they can't really believe 'cycles are vehicles too'. They may wear a reflective jacket (esp if they must also use one for work) but apart from that, it's hoods up, baseball caps on, dark clothing and strictly no lights. In the summer, of course, it's a lot easier to spot them, what with the white-to-pink bare torsos. Before you mark me down as a hopeless snob, let me stress I do distinguish the many who are simply using the bike, like me, to get to work - they just aren't bothered by health pretensions and seem to be in no rush. Why, I've even seen one or to light up on the move, which is not without skill.
There are, for sure, variations between these two extremes, which I suspect I'll discuss later: mountain bikers, eco-warriors, city centre couriers, frumpy academics, unwittingly suicidal yobs. Let me just state where I personally stand in terms of cycling culture, through its material reflection: clothing.
The basic principles I follow are: comfort, value for money and serendipitous adaptation. The first criteria is straightforward enough - though it took me a while to realise that jogging trainers are not good for cycling - esp. as their soft, foamy top soak all the water from rain and muddy puddles.
Value for money is about prioritising function over form, then making sensible, rational, function-based, fit-for-purpose choices. Why buy an Altura reflective jacket when a builders' vest will do just as nicely, at a tenth of the price? Why, combined with that old kagool it does the job just as well. Last year's casual but sturdy shoes are the ideal cycling shoes for the commuter - they may look the part for work any more, so why not give them a new lease of life?
Serendipitous adaptation (and there are those who call me pompous!). This refers to the process by which things become something they weren't initially intended for (or not entirely, at least). eg. the freebie conference briefcase/rucksack that has become my trusty cycling companion, where I carry valuables and as an overspill to my panier bag. Or the elasticated strap with end-hooks for my old car roofrack, which is now attached on my bike rack, ready to take on any unexpected package that won't fit in the bag.
07 December 2006
How it all started
It was 14 June 2005, and I'd been promised a free cooked breakfast. Welcome to 'cycle to work day'. For years I had thought about doing it, but had always come against an obstacle big enough to put me off (ie not that big) - until the next year, and the next, and the next...
For a start, I didn't have a bike. And I didn't want to buy a new one because I didn't have anywhere to store it - under cover at least. So, one day, I went to dump some garden debris to the local tip and saw this rusty old bike. It needed new brake pads, but was otherwise serviceable.
Still, now I had a bike but the June day came and the weather was awful. I did start to use the bike to cycle to and from the tram (Whitefield) - a 7' ride as opposed to a 15' walk. The first time I did it I got the mock leather of the saddle ripped off by vandals, but no incidents after that (I replaced the lost saddle cover with an Asda bag, and carried a supply of spares as, every now and then, some young git was bound to rip that too).
Then June 2005 came. The weather was glorious. I had been putting on weight steadily over the years and stood at 105kg. OK, I'd given up sugar in my coffee but clearly something more radical was needed.
So, on the morning of Tuesday 14 June 2005, having bought a helmet and a new saddle, I set off at 0700, fully expecting a 90' journey.
It only took 45' - some ups and downs but on the whole it is downhill Bury to Mcr. When I got to the office the canteen was closed so I had to wait a further 45', drinking lots water, famished and shattered. In the evening the return journey took 75' - it was rather hot, I had to stop a couple of times to get a drink and catch my breath. When I finally got home I felt I was walking on wooden legs and despite drinking gallons of water I was chronically thirsty for days. But I was hooked. I tried it again - w/out the cooked breakfast - and again and again.
Eighteen months later I cycle to work almost everyday. I'm down to 90kg with only a small change to my diet (namely: eat loads but avoid fat!). I do the 7.5 miles in an avg of 45' downhill (best time 39') and 55' uphill (45' best). I've done it throughout all four seasons, in rain, hail and snow. I've had one minor fall, 3 bikes (more on that later) and my share of small mishaps.
I should explain I do not see myself as a 'cyclist'. Nor am I a 'bloke on a bike'. I think I am something in between, a two-wheeled commuter. What the difference is, the joys and pitfalls on my 'journey' is what I hope to discuss in these postings. We'll see...
For a start, I didn't have a bike. And I didn't want to buy a new one because I didn't have anywhere to store it - under cover at least. So, one day, I went to dump some garden debris to the local tip and saw this rusty old bike. It needed new brake pads, but was otherwise serviceable.
Still, now I had a bike but the June day came and the weather was awful. I did start to use the bike to cycle to and from the tram (Whitefield) - a 7' ride as opposed to a 15' walk. The first time I did it I got the mock leather of the saddle ripped off by vandals, but no incidents after that (I replaced the lost saddle cover with an Asda bag, and carried a supply of spares as, every now and then, some young git was bound to rip that too).
Then June 2005 came. The weather was glorious. I had been putting on weight steadily over the years and stood at 105kg. OK, I'd given up sugar in my coffee but clearly something more radical was needed.
So, on the morning of Tuesday 14 June 2005, having bought a helmet and a new saddle, I set off at 0700, fully expecting a 90' journey.
It only took 45' - some ups and downs but on the whole it is downhill Bury to Mcr. When I got to the office the canteen was closed so I had to wait a further 45', drinking lots water, famished and shattered. In the evening the return journey took 75' - it was rather hot, I had to stop a couple of times to get a drink and catch my breath. When I finally got home I felt I was walking on wooden legs and despite drinking gallons of water I was chronically thirsty for days. But I was hooked. I tried it again - w/out the cooked breakfast - and again and again.
Eighteen months later I cycle to work almost everyday. I'm down to 90kg with only a small change to my diet (namely: eat loads but avoid fat!). I do the 7.5 miles in an avg of 45' downhill (best time 39') and 55' uphill (45' best). I've done it throughout all four seasons, in rain, hail and snow. I've had one minor fall, 3 bikes (more on that later) and my share of small mishaps.
I should explain I do not see myself as a 'cyclist'. Nor am I a 'bloke on a bike'. I think I am something in between, a two-wheeled commuter. What the difference is, the joys and pitfalls on my 'journey' is what I hope to discuss in these postings. We'll see...
The route
Like in so many other things, this was a case of trial n error.
The way from Whitefield into Manchester was straightforward enough. The A56 goes South to the city centre in pretty much a straight line. On the whole, it is downhill - you do have to climb from Strangeways prison to Lower Broughton, but this done it is the most direct way to get into the city centre from where I live.
Much of my early attempts were guided by my car driving days. The problem of course is ontologic: the car mediates our perception and our knowledge of the road and its attributes.
Zzzzzzzz...
In plain English: following your favourite car route on a bike will reveal to you how many rather slopes the road has that you were not fully aware of. In the car all you have to do is put your foot down and gear down if it gets a bit steep. You do it without thinking, without sensing... on the bike, on the other hand, any incline of the terrain is noticed immediately. One minute you can be riding fast, effortlessly. And suddenly you struggle to move uphill.
This was the problem with the A56 going back home. It was all uphill up to Prestwich. Then you have to cross the M60 roundabout (J17), in the dark during winter. Also, the junction of Higher Lane and Bury New Rd in Besses O'th'Barn is somewhat unforgiving, as traffic is heavy and much off it turns left on Higher Lane - where I needed to go straight across. I often found that when I got to Higher Lane I wasted lots of time negotiating traffic lights and pedestrian crossings after being forced to take an unwanted left turn. The last thing when you are shattered.
After the first couple of weeks I settle on a different return route, along Cheetham Hill Rd. This way has the advantage of sloping more gradually towards Whitefield. After Polefield you reach the cusp, after which there is a downhill stretch across the M60 (no roundabout here). This point is the beginning of the 'home run'. Here, I know I am 10' to 15' away from home - and save for a couple of short slopes it is reasonably level roads.
Getting into and out of the city centre is a pain whichever way you play it. There are too many traffic lights, designed mostly (it seems) for the benefit of those pesky pedestrians.... who don't take any notice of them anyway. It can sometimes take me 15' to get from Manchester Cathedral to the office (barely 1.5m) where the previous 5.5m took me only 30'. One day, I'll campaign to 'bicyclecise' some streets. More on that later.
The way from Whitefield into Manchester was straightforward enough. The A56 goes South to the city centre in pretty much a straight line. On the whole, it is downhill - you do have to climb from Strangeways prison to Lower Broughton, but this done it is the most direct way to get into the city centre from where I live.
Much of my early attempts were guided by my car driving days. The problem of course is ontologic: the car mediates our perception and our knowledge of the road and its attributes.
Zzzzzzzz...
In plain English: following your favourite car route on a bike will reveal to you how many rather slopes the road has that you were not fully aware of. In the car all you have to do is put your foot down and gear down if it gets a bit steep. You do it without thinking, without sensing... on the bike, on the other hand, any incline of the terrain is noticed immediately. One minute you can be riding fast, effortlessly. And suddenly you struggle to move uphill.
This was the problem with the A56 going back home. It was all uphill up to Prestwich. Then you have to cross the M60 roundabout (J17), in the dark during winter. Also, the junction of Higher Lane and Bury New Rd in Besses O'th'Barn is somewhat unforgiving, as traffic is heavy and much off it turns left on Higher Lane - where I needed to go straight across. I often found that when I got to Higher Lane I wasted lots of time negotiating traffic lights and pedestrian crossings after being forced to take an unwanted left turn. The last thing when you are shattered.
After the first couple of weeks I settle on a different return route, along Cheetham Hill Rd. This way has the advantage of sloping more gradually towards Whitefield. After Polefield you reach the cusp, after which there is a downhill stretch across the M60 (no roundabout here). This point is the beginning of the 'home run'. Here, I know I am 10' to 15' away from home - and save for a couple of short slopes it is reasonably level roads.
Getting into and out of the city centre is a pain whichever way you play it. There are too many traffic lights, designed mostly (it seems) for the benefit of those pesky pedestrians.... who don't take any notice of them anyway. It can sometimes take me 15' to get from Manchester Cathedral to the office (barely 1.5m) where the previous 5.5m took me only 30'. One day, I'll campaign to 'bicyclecise' some streets. More on that later.
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