Waking up this morning I cringed at a memory from two days earlier where, post way too much Sunday lunch wine, I had agreed to pit myself against the Velodrome at Herne Hill. It struck me that in reality I wasn't too sure I had ever even considered cycling round and round in circles to be all that much fun. Watching the Olympics had made me think it was cool, but to actually go out on a wintry London evening to see the same sights over and over again had never actually ventured onto my mental list of things to do before I die.....
At 3pm it started to rain. It tentatively crossed my mind that this may save my bacon but Tony reliably informed me that a 5 minute shower didn't actually constitute a get out clause. Sadly there was still an opening in the embarrassment stakes for me to slide down the bank, bike on head, in full view of members of the public!
When we eventually turned off the road between two houses, the sky was stormy to say the least. Every other cyclist in London had obviously read this to mean there would be rain, and as we rounded the corner there were only two serious cyclists and a handful of kids on mountain bikes.
I paid my £3 and (half) listened as the guy explained the rules of the track to us. In the time it took to get the 10m to the track this explanation had muddled into a mass of coloured lines and the words 'do' and 'don't'. I was hoping this wasn't going to be rocket science.
The first lap saw me do as Tony did, just 10mph slower and not so high up the bank. Once round was enough to quell my fear and on my second lap I put my foot down. Head wind on one leg and tail on the other, I was soon amusing myself by overtaking kids. I know there really isn't too much glory to gleam here, especially considering they were no older than 6 and on mountain bikes, but I was happy with the notion that you have to start somewhere.
Embarrassingly after maybe 30 laps my legs were like fizzing lactic jelly, and yet I couldn't help myself when Tony suggested seeing how fast we could clock. I only managed 45.2 km/hr before the wind whipping round onto my side as I banked the corner made me chicken out in fear. Next time I will endeavour to break the 50km/hr mark.
I had gone, wandering how I could ever enjoy cycling - goldfish style, but acting like a child with reckless abandon is always fun and attempting to pedal as fast as possible fits the bill. It's almost like running down a steep hill, stomach in your mouth, as your legs try to keep up. I had images of Ben running down Combe Hill as a kid, Dad in tow and a mad mother at the foot of it as he went tumbling head first to the bottom.
Having ventured so far into South London, and after having stopped for tea with one of Tony's friends, it was dark and I had no real idea which direction was even North. Luckily Tony delivered us back at Vauxhall Bridge - during which a car swerved in front of me then stopped dead (middle of the road) to play with his wing mirror - where my on board GPS kicked in, directing us through Hyde Park and home.
Wednesday
17 years ago
