Tell a bike story
As soon as the topic of cycling is raised in conversation, many people respond with a bike story. They tell of the trials of winter and the joys of summer, of bling bikes and pub beaters, of favourite routes and breathtaking views, of close calls and empty roads, of fierce hills and sweet descents, of shortcuts and longcuts, of freecycled parts and tool swaps, of long loved bikes lost and found, of special rides and new friends, of chance encounters and lucky escapes, of patching flats and mending trousers, of learning tricks and taking tumbles.
It can be short or long, wistful or stressful, passionate or poetic. It is up to you how you tell it. And who says you only have to write one.
(Hopefully, there will be a map and image function soon. In the meantime if you have such things, please send them here.
Happy safe cycling,
April 28th, 2010 at 3:46 pm
It was the middle of winter and although I was wearing two pairs of my warmest gloves, my hands were absolutely freezing. They were so numb I was starting to wonder about the chances of frostbite. I stopped at the lights and held my claw-like appendages to my mouth. I blew hard on them through the gloves in an attempt to ease the pain. My breath cast thick white clouds that briefly fogged my glasses. A motorcyclist pulled up near me and the rider, fully clad in black leathers, looked over. Noting my pitiful attempt to warm up, he lifted one of his enormously thick gloves and muffled through his helmet: ‘You should have some of these’. I nodded and smiled. I think he did too.
April 29th, 2010 at 10:17 am
I was leaving campus after a long Winter’s day at work, and went down to find I had a flat tyre
Sat on the pavement, I began fiddling with the (thin, difficult to remove) tyre, feeling foolish and knowing it would take me half an hour and so I wouldn’t get home till after 9:30. After a few minutes, I noticed a student walking across the road from the halls of residence opposite. She said “Do you need any help? We could get you a cup or tea or maybe my flatmates can help out?” I declined the help but suddenly felt much better, and once the tyre was back on I cycled off with a smile on my face despite the rain.
May 2nd, 2010 at 7:03 pm
By 1995, I had lived in Hackney for a year and travelled by public transport as I had a job locally. When I got another job in Royal Oak (approx 7 miles away), I decided that cycle commuting would save me money and give me some exercise. I thought that a Peugot mountain bike would survive the potholes of roads but this became more like a tourer over the years by adding front and rear racks, by swapping the straight handle bars for dropped handlebars swivelled up to give greater riding height, and by changing the gear ratios.
In this period I discovered Hackney Cyclists’ Self-Help Workshop at Hackney City Farm, then run by Martin Powers. This enabled me to learn about maintaining and servicing a bicycle myself and, when Martin moved onto another hobby, I was asked to keep the workshop going. With the aid of Chris the manager of the Farm, I ran the workshop and Paul Standeven and Adam Thompson were recruited to co-run it. I used that bicycle to go touring from Lands End to Brighton.
By 1998, I had bought a Dawes touring bicycle when my job moved to Willesden (approx 10 miles away) for cycle commuting and toured on that from Skye to Edinburgh (approx 1000 miles). Since then, my cycle commuting has been to/from South Kensington, Victoria, Holborn and now Ladbroke Grove. The cycle workshop has moved twice and is still going strong in our best venue yet (see http://www.hackney-cyclists.org.uk/workshop.htm for details), enabling people who are curious enough to want to see how things work and those who want to save a bit of money by doing their own repairs to carry on cycling. We have up to 10 mechanics, which are all needed on busy summer evenings when people all think wouldn’t it be a nice time to get an old bike into shape.
May 2nd, 2010 at 11:43 pm
Cycling in London revolutionised my life and my experience of living in a the city. I started cycling in London when we finally moved to a flat that was big enough (well, barely) to store a bike (or six). I’m talking about cycling as an everyday part of life. While I previously loved walking as my main way of getting around, jumping on a bike just was so fast for getting around. Faster than Underground, Bus, even Taxi-no crowds, no queues…and cheap, just London streets, beautiful and ugly. Even during the times of pure exhilaration, speeding on quiet streets- early mornings, late at night, I always had this mental filter of awareness that if I do something stupid or if I’m not 100% aware of everything around me that I could end up mashed and even dead. I think this combination of the beauty and danger made me feel 100% alive and 100% a part of the city. I used to whistle ‘fly me to the moon’ as my cycling song.
Now in Austalia, I have an old mountain bike, and old road bike, and an old hard rubbish mashed up single speed. I bought a lock that I don’t use. I still don’t have a car (and don’t want one) and I cycle around a perfect little bay to get to work, or over the hill to the beach. I still whistle my song and think of cycling in London.
May 18th, 2010 at 4:49 pm
One Sunday morning, shortly after Candlemas (Feb 2nd) 2005, I returned home from church on my trustee steed – my 1933 Hercules bicycle, having just celebrated the 9.30am Holy Communion Service.
As was my custom, I chained and locked my bicycle to the picket fence situated at the front of the clergy house immediately below the double bay windows.
After spending time on making adjustments to the sermon I’d prepared for the evening service – I then sat down to a roast lunch, after which I took my usual siesta.
The time, as always, when one is enjoying a relaxing hour or two, flew by.
Evensong beckoned – and so, sluggishly, I rallied myself, donned my coat and trouser clips and headed for he door.
But to my horror I discovered that villainous acts had taken place whilst I had slumbered away the hours.
My beloved bicycle had been stolen. And not only the bicycle – but the picket fence also to which it had been attached!
The bicycle had once belonged to my grand-father. He had fought in the Great War of 1914 – 18 but was too old to fight in 1939 – 45 conflict, and so had become an air raid warden.
He first came by the bicycle during the Second World War, when he commandeered it from the local post mistress. He thought he might better fulfil his duties with a bicycle rather than be without one.
Unfortunately, the post office received a direct hit one night during a raid by enemy aircraft.
Sadly the post mistress was killed – and that’s how the bicycle came to be in my family’s possession.
However, I digress!
At once, the local constabulary were summoned and within the hour, a young bobbie called at the house.
“Afternoon sir”, he said, “I understand you’ve had a theft?”
“Yes”, I replied, “A bicycle which I’d chained to the picket fence – and that too has also been stolen”.
“Can you give me a full description of it sir?” he asked.
“Yes”, I uttered, in a somewhat frantic fashion.
” It’s a Black 1933 Hercules push bike with telescopic rod brakes, sit up and beg handle bars and an original high sprung leather seat”.
“No sir”, he said, “I meant could you describe the picket fence?”
(There then followed a description of the said fence)
Three weeks went by – then late, one afternoon, the door bell rang.
Low and behold, it was the young police constable.
He wore a smile on his face like the proverbial Cheshire cat.
“Afternoon sir”, he beamed.
“I’m pleased to report that we’ve found your property”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, “What marvellous news. Where is it?” I enquired.
The young PC pointed with his finger towards the double bay windows.
I leapt from the front entrance, down the steps and headed towards in that direction. But as I made my way there, the officer called after me, “Sir, we haven’t found your bicycle – but we were lucky enough to come across the picket fence!”
My heart sank!
I bid good afternoon to the uniformed officer, went in doors, poured a very large whiskey and sat, somewhat disgruntled, in my armchair trying desperately to console myself.
From the Revd Fr. John H Tasker
Visiting Chaplain to the Hull and East Riding Institute for the Blind.
May 19th, 2010 at 12:03 pm
Dogs, riddles and dentists.
While on a cycle touring holiday in Eire during the 70’s an Irish Wolfhournd the size of a pony got too friendly on the Tim Healy Pass. I am sure the dog thought he was playing but he tried to put his paws on my shoulders as I cycled past the farm he was nominally attched to. I came off rather badly on the gravel covered road, scraping my knee, hands and face. You can stilll see the scars on my patella.
Although shook up i carried on till I reached the youth hostel. There two east german army dentistry students patched me up. This was before the berlin wall came down and East Germans were allowed to travel to Southern Ireland.
The students told me this riddle.
You are in a room from which you must escape. There are two doors, one leads to freedom and the other to certain death. Each door has its own guard. One gaurd alwasys tells the truth and the other always lies and both know where both doors go and each others propensity to lie or tell the truth.
You have one question to find out which door leads to freedom.
I do not remember the east germans names or stay in touch with them, but I will remember the riddle forever.
email cycling.instructor@gmail.com for the answer
May 29th, 2010 at 9:58 pm
The answer to the riddle is to ask one guard “If I ask the other guard which door is safe, what would he tell me?” Then use the other door to the one indicated.
By asking one guard what the other would say, you guarantee exactly one lie.
June 1st, 2010 at 11:14 am
Cycling through Northallerton on a rainy autumn afternoon. Vertical rain, thankfully which suited my ‘retro’ perfectly waterproof yellow plastic cape.
At the lights I looked sideways to a similar-aged, identical background, comparable car driver: beaming in his trophy car. I caught a look in his eye that suggested he felt sorry for me. Presumably thinking I couldn’t make his grade of symbolic success.
Meanwhile there I was feeling so sorry for him. I was out there alive, in control, feeling free. Rain splattered but part of the world and not a passive observer.
Are there any other areas of life, I wondered, where two such comparable people could have such diametrically opposed viewpoints?
June 22nd, 2010 at 2:55 pm
Cycling is one of these things that you get so addicted to- its hard to imagine how you used to spend time sitting on a bus or a tube……. when you get used to getting places under your own steam! It is truely amazing and has been life changing for me, I have lost a lot of weight, gained in confidence and so much more. Some of the things I can now do, I would never have been able to contemplate just 5 years back. Truely liberating!
Bit of a daunting prospect, but me and my 2 cycling mates made it all the way down to join our team in Clapham to take part in the final leg of our journey the London to Brighton bike ride. I have to say that the electric atmosphere of the L2B, has reaffirmed my love for cycling…. although have to say that there was the frustration of having to queue to go through the finishing line at Brighton 
However about a month ago I did get my confidence knocked when I got knocked off my bike on my way home (ironically by a motorcyclist!). A few stitches to the head and bumps and grazes. I was VERY lucky! The moral of the story is that I could have so easily avoided any of this if I had been wearing my helmet (which I am usually very good about- honest!)
So for a day or two I sat and contemplated whether it was all worth the risk that we expose ourselves to as cyclists everyday. I came to a fairly firm conclusion…. that of course it was!
So just about a month and a half after having this accident I had planned a trip with some friends from Edinburgh to Brighton
Some of the people you meet while on your travels are great as well…. have to say my favourite was a couple on a tandum…. the lady on the back was telling us that she just closed her eyes going down hill!! You always have a nice chat at the traffic lights….
Cycling is great
June 24th, 2010 at 1:32 pm
My great grandfather was an amateur cycling champion. We recently found a photo of him after he won £100 on a cinder track in 1907. My grandfather also competed, and the last time I saw him when he was very frail, we arrived on a tandem and he was delighted to look at the modern gears and set-up. My son now cycles – so we are in a 5 generation tradition.
July 9th, 2010 at 6:07 pm
Decades ago, as a young happy couple, we decided in our late twenties to start a family. But it was important for us to have a big adventure first – so we did the Great British Bike Ride. With 250 cyclists, a travelling theatre, a luggage van and fantastic food tent, we cycled from Land’s End to John O’Groats. Our oldest was conceived en route.
September 23rd, 2010 at 4:54 pm
After cycling for 6 months on a road bike lent by my father. My father and I completed a 110 mile charity ride in yorkshire. 6:30 hours was our time. Since then we completed 5 club TTs and am now a member. I’m hooked on cycling and I’m trying hard to get all my friends in on the action.
October 4th, 2010 at 12:53 pm
I was cycling from Herne Hill to central London when I got chatting with a man on an impressive cargo bike. I admit I am easily impressed by cargo bikes but this was of a scale and elegance not normally sighted in the city. Frequent red lights provided excuses to talk and he told me of it’s structure, steering and load capacity – it was usually used to transport 50kg but was capable of 100kg! These companionable bursts of conversation continued from South London to Covent Garden. Stuck once more in a snarl of traffic, he asked if I wanted to try it. I said yes. We swapped bikes and I set off to cycle a very busy street while he held my road bike on the footpath. I was nervous. Not only that this was a very expensive machine, but I was in road cleats on flat pedals and the street was filled with tourists, cabs doing 360s and many many cyclists, including pedicabs. At first it wobbled a lot. It was disconcerting not to see the front wheel and have the steering column turn even though the big cargo box in front remained straight ahead. And the seat was too high. I returned and he adjusted the seat. I tried again, this time down hill and something clicked. I cycled on, turned around and came back. It felt incredibly smooth and responsive. And the potential of it was exciting. We chatted again, introduced ourselves, swapped bikes and cycled away.
This spontaneous encounter with a cycling stranger made London feel like a very friendly place. It engendered an extraordinary level of trust in a city where cyclists we are constantly reminded about theft and security, of accidents and safety, of cycling defensively and being aware of traffic. Yet, here we simply connected over a lovely bike. Our shared interest in cycling made talk easy and it made my day.
October 4th, 2010 at 1:50 pm
I don’t love you, I just have a thing going on…
I don’t care about you I keep your messages on the phone because I do not want it to be empty.
I stopped emailing you, I call because it is better to talk then have cold communication.
I pass by your house because I work near by. Not that there is no other ways to get to the office – that is where the bike path is, so it is the safest route to ride.
I bump into you because you are out all the time, not like I am too, but I don’t like being indoors and this is England, so whenever is not raining, I use the opportunity to go out.
I do keep in touch because you are on my mailing list, so I tell you what I’m doing and where can you see me if you want to buy a ticket and bring your friends too.
I have your picture on my computer and when I come across it I remember when it is taken and it makes me smile.
Sometimes I open it up before I go to bed and I think of you then, I dream of you after and I wake up missing you so much like you just happened. And I get up and go to work riding along the bike route, because it is safer.
February 28th, 2011 at 12:03 pm
I was cycling up another steep Devon hill the other day when an old fellow, dressed in what might best be described as 1950’s old man attire, stopped me with a smile to pass the time of day. From under his cloth cap I could see him gently scrutinising my bike. He then recounted how he used to cycle that way every day for years. He continued by adding, ” ‘course in those days we had single speed bicycles but then I had a sturmey archer, that was progress”.
He described how he saw another cycle user up here a few days ago “his pedals spinning round though he was hardly moving”…. he thought that amusing and regretted immensely how his inherited heart condition prevented him cycling still…….and so we went on.
What’s particularly great about cycling is that aside from the obvious material and physical benefits we would miss all those brief encounters and those views over the hills of life when we travel cocooned in a car or wrapped up in ear phones.
May 27th, 2011 at 10:07 pm
I’ve always wanted to travel by bike, especially around Europe. So, last year, on a family visit, I managed to fit in a short two day ‘test’ ride on a rented bike from Geneva to Nyon, across the lake by ferry and back to Geneva on the French side.
On day two, a thunderstorm developed in the middle of the day. Now, I’ve never had to ride in one before, and there wasn’t much cover so I alternated between stopping under trees and then thinking, this isn’t a good idea, so continuing along, hoping to find a restaurant or cafe. Arriving in a small village I spotted the only restaurant in town, and eagerly parked my bike outside under the canopy and went inside.
The restaurant was very busy- it seemed that everyone in town had decided to have lunch at the same time, or perhaps they always did that. There was one larger circular table left, and as I waited patiently by the door, dripping, the server came over to tell me, sorry we don’t have any space. I pointed at the circular table, to which she replied- no we have to keep that for a larger group. Everyone was looking at me at this point, so, somewhat self-consciously I pointed outside at the rain and lightning and said, please? She shook her head, and everyone looked back down at their food. I was both astonished and suddenly very angry with all of them, so I said loudly (to my surprise) and in french, Well, you aren’t very kind. I stormed out, jumped on my bike and rode off in the rain, absolutely incredulous-but pleased with my outburst.
A bit further down the road, I came upon a family-owned restaurant where they invited me in, offered me a towel to dry off and I ate a delicious meal while admiring their beautiful Bernese mountain dog.
August 5th, 2011 at 9:23 pm
For my Millennium event I built a recumbent trike and rode it from Lands End to John O’Groats. Most of this adventure was buoyed along with the encouragement from my companions. The Superb places visited along the way and the many interesting folk we met. I would endeavour to add to the day by indulging in silly antics. This usually took the form of hair raising descents and lunatic two wheeled cornering, often leaving the normal cyclists behind.
One particular day in Cumbria we were required to drop down off the fells. I happened to be near the back of the group and as I cycled over a ridge past one of our guys; he said
“Give it what for there’s a great bump to enjoy”. What a thing to say… Off I went hell for leather down the hill and taking the bump at great speed I took off. All three wheels – But I needed to steer to avoid the treacherous fall to the left of the road. Utter panic ensued and I attempted to unclip my feet from the pedals. On doing this my weight shifted and one steering wheel, touch the road and just saved my bacon. The machine slewed about and I came to a controlled stop. All this was much to the delight of my companions who were under the mistaken idea that I had been in control. I continued on in a sober fashion as we proceeded into Scotland. Somewhere over looking the Murray Firth, later that day, on a very bleak, quiet Scottish Sunday. The steering went all funny and I came to a stop. Deepest murd; the steering had snapped…. I can’t think why! Well that’s the end of my adventure. Not a sole about apart from us few cyclists. I poked a stick into the tube and attempted to continue. Although not very safe I did make progress passing into a small wood. A companion further along the road called back the hopeful news a barn was in the trees. As we proceeded it became obvious it was a tractor engineering shop…. But being Sunday in Scotland surely no one would be at work! There was a land rover in the yard and a light on. I took the opportunity to go through the unlocked gate and into the building. Someone was on the phone. I found the person who was shocked to see me.
I told him my plight and assistance was offered. “Just take it to bits and I’ll weld it”. This I did and in no time at all the vice held one part whilst I put a finger on the top of the other bit holding it in roughly the right attitude. A quick buzz all done then rebuild and try it out. Spot on. “What will you take for that Mr”; all he wanted was a go on the trike. There is no accounting for fine folk. I stand today amazed that the only building for miles was an engineering shop and the engineer, being in residence was prepared to help.
September 21st, 2011 at 6:57 pm
I’m a private tutor in Bristol – going to pupils’ homes to help with school work and revision for GCSE and A-level science and maths, and until last January I usually took the car as tutorials were between 4 and 8 miles away and all across the city. I got really fed up with the traffic and stress of never knowing when I’d arrive, and set myself the challenge of biking instead. Now I bike to 8 different locations across Bristol – between 20 and 45 minutes bike ride – living in Clifton and biking to Portbury, Warmley (along the cycle path), Shirehampton, Horfield, Bedminster, Kingswood, Fishponds and of course Stoke Bishop and Westbury on Trym. I totally love it – save money, get in shape and arrive smiling and bang on time! On a busy day it’ll be 25 miles total. My favourite commute is from Clifton to Kingswood going via Temple Meads and along the Avon up as far as Conham and then up to Hanham and north – takes about the same time as a commute via Lawrence Hill. At one point too I set myself the challenge of climbing all the steep hills in Bristol – Ninetree Hill, Constitution Hill, Clifton Vale, and the monster, Marlborough Hill behind the BRI – all around 1 in 6 and the last one is 250m straight up! What a feeling when you get to the top!