Group Cycling

Most of my cycling is done on my own. Partly this is from choice, because I enjoy being able to take all the decisions about how I'll spend my time on the bike, my speed, my route, the stops I take and so on. But partly it's because cycling clubs tend to be based on sports cycling, whether road racing, time trialling and so on. These clubs have training runs which are much too fast and furious for me nowadays.

Social cycling groups are rather harder to find, at least in these parts. I have occasionally ridden with CTC groups, but even they tend to be a bit pacy. I ride about once a month with a group from ByCycle, the Perth-based cycle campaign group. We usually cover about 30 miles or so at a very sedate pace, stopping for all sorts of reasons and none.

Sunday past we had just such a ride in Glenalmond, on a day that felt very much like spring had sprung. We stopped to watch a group of enthusiasts flying model planes and later in the day stopped to chat with a different group whose thing is model railways. The 30 miles or so took us well over four hours to complete, which I regard as a very satisfactory pace for a retired gent on a Sunday morning!

Where's the camera...

...when you want it? I went for one of my favourite rides today, from Perth via Caputh to Coupar Angus and then back to Perth via various back roads. It was a fine day, so I took my time. I saw, at reasonable camera distance (reasonable with a 300mm lens on) roe deer, wild swans, a grey heron, buzzards, a kestrel and to top it all a beautiful red squirrel which sat obligingly on a roadside verge watching me for all of half a minute. And where was the camera? In the back bedroom, of course.

I keep telling myself never to leave home without the camera kit. I keep it in a "slingshot" camera bag, which gives me pretty quick access to the camera even when standing over the bike. Ok, I'm not going to get quality photos without a tripod and so on, but at least I'd have been able to have a go at capturing some really nice moments.

Sorry, can't help you!

Yesterday was a lovely day for a ride. I had only a couple of hours free so I set out from Perth over the craig towards Forteviot and Dunning. As I ground my way up the big hill I realised the world had suddenly become bumpier and glancing down, saw I had a front tyre puncture. I pulled off to the side of the road and set about replacing the tube. (I never repair punctures on a ride, but carry spare tubes instead).

As I worked, I spotted a lady cyclist working her way up the hill towards me. As she passed I smiled and she called out "Sorry, I can't help you." Now that was an odd thing. It's normal practice for cyclists out on country roads to offer to help any rider they see dismounted and working on the bike. The usual reply is "No thanks, I'm fine", or something like that, although occasionally the stranded rider will be glad of some help with a tricky repair.

In this case, I didn't need the lady's help with a straightforward puncture, but it was surprising to be told in advance that no assistance would be forthcoming. I can only assume that she meant the hill was too steep for her to stop, or something like that. I hope this sort of thing doesn't catch on. For me, it's a fine part of the camaraderie of cycling that we all offer to help, even if sometimes we rather hope to be turned down!

Ice warning

Yesterday when I woke and looked out of the window I saw the first decent weather in what seemed like weeks. The sun was shining low in a bright blue sky and no wind was shaking the trees. Time to get out the road bike and have a good long ride to stretch the legs and the lungs. Before that though, I had to take the dogs out for their morning walk. Two or three steps out on to the pavement and I knew the sunshine was a cruel deception. The pavements and roads were treacherous with black ice.

Ice is just about the only road condition I really fear. I can control the bike in rain, wind and even to some extent in snow, but black ice is an invisible threat too far. The bike can be away from under the rider in an instant, with no warning. Now, taking a tumble from a bike is one thing when you're twenty years old and 65 kg or so. A nasty knock to elbows or knees, perhaps a stinging road rash, or at worst a couple of fractures which should heal fairly quickly. But when you're sixty or more and perhaps nearer 100 kg than you'd like to be, a fall from the bike, at any sort of speed, could be of much greater consequence. Disabling injuries are far from impossible. And that could be the end of the cycling, if not worse.

So the lovely sunny morning was spent spring cleaning the bathroom and the shower.

Goodbye, Sheldon

I've just learned that Sheldon Brown has died at the age of 63. He was a bicycle mechanic and expert in the USA who came to the attention of many cyclists through newsgroups, forums and above all through his legendary website. There was nary an item of technical or aesthetic interest about bicycles on which Sheldon didn't have an informed and enlightening opinion. He was a true expert and enthusiast, who didn't hesitate to share his insights with anyone who cared to enquire. Always the first thought, when faced with a problem or a tricky choice, was "What does Sheldon say about it?"

In recent years his cycling was curtailed through illness, but his presence on the internet was little diminished. Although he wrote frankly about his troubles with MS, his sudden death from a heart attack comes as a complete shock.

It's a measure of his influence and position that my first thought on reading of his passing was a very selfish one - "Oh no, who am I going to ask now?"

Senior cycling

So I thought to myself, there are many, many cyclists on the web who have websites, blogs or whatever and some of them are very interesting indeed. However, many of them seem to be young or youngish persons who do things which are strange to me, like cycling very fast or over very long distances. It's easy to feel somewhat elderly in these circumstances, even if in reality I'm only in my late prime. So I'm going to put up some ramblings here from time to time which may be of interest to the slightly more mature cyclist (or may not, of course).

Just to begin, a little tale from the other day which points up the generational thing. Readers from outwith Scotland may struggle a bit with the language.

I'd left my bike propped against a bridge parapet while I scrambled down the bank to photograph the flooded cyclepath. This particular bike is a fairly nondescript hybrid which I use mainly for shopping trips with the trailer, or for winter conditions. Anyway, as I came back up towards the bridge I overheard some teenagers talking about the bike. "It's no a proper bike" said one, "it's only a kid's bike." "Naw it's no!" said a second voice. "Aye it is," said the first, "it's only a kid's yin." "Naw it's no a kid's bike," persisted the second voice, "Ah seen the boay that his it an' he's aboot a hunner!"