Pootling and the best cat

Firstly I must announce that Mr Weenie is the best cat.*

I came home last night to not one but two pairs of new shoes, some uber funky trainers and some gorgeous ballet flats, both of which I'd been looking at and decided I shouldn't buy as Reg needs work doing. Sigh. What a man.

Anyhoo, back to pootling. Part of Reg's issue at the moment is that he's a bit confused about which gear he's on. He's one gear out in either direction depending on his mood. The result of all this is a feeling of complete liberation.

Normally I gauge my fitness and leg strength by my commuting gear but not that that option is out I just go with what feels comfy at the time. Shockingly this has, in fact, reduced my commuting time some mornings and improved my mood immeasurably.

Sometimes I pootle along feeling like a slow coach only to realise I'm hitting 20mph but because I'm not conscious of the fact it's all the easier. Sometimes I am in fact going very slowly but I don't care. Added to the gear issue is the drop in the number of cyclists. With no one to race against and precious few of the 'all the gear, no idea' crew willing to brave the icy winds I have no one to race against and no one to teach a speed lesson to when they've annoyed me.

What shocks me about cycling is how often my own views on things change and evolve. In a year and a half I've gone through timid, aggressive, law-bending to strict law adherence until I've found a style that suits.

Life change through cycling, how zen.


*The best cat means the best thing ever. The term evolved from inter-family rivalry about who had the best feline friend as three of us own cats but is now used for all things fabulous.

Sorting the wheat from the chaff...

Or more bike parking for me.

This morning there was just one other bike in the rack I normally use. We have other ones round the back and there were a couple in them but there are very few cyclists left.

On the plus side the waiting time for the showers has reduced dramatically and I have my pick of he bike stands. I'm also given the look of awe by some as I stride in in lycra on frosty mornings.

On the down side, it's bloody cold out there. However, my problem is not one of chilly extremities, rather it is of sweaty hotness. Piling on the layers is all well and good when you set off, puffing clouds of steam and thanking the Lord for those fleecy leggings you nearly didn't buy. Halfway to work though you've worked up some body heat and you're dripping with sweat. You can't be arsed to pull over because you've only got 15 minutes left to ride so you struggle on encased in a cocoon of clammy lycra.

You alternate between keeping those toasty gloves on and taking the damn things off for short periods when you become like a furnace.

Then when you get to work you sit red-faced in a t-shirt while colleagues pull their cardigans around them in a vain attempt to get warm.

Roll on spring.

Envy retro stylee

There was a woman on a Chopper on my commute this morning.

Yes, a Chopper.

It was clearly one from some distance because of the unique seat shape etc and the fact it was tiny small. She had the Vans and surfer-style mess of hair that meant she was obviously deeply cool and I must admit that rather than scoff I was envious.

She couldn't go terribly fast but was cruising rather than pootling, exuding the sense that she would get there when she got there and to chill out speed freaks.

Reg was the equivalent of a bowler hat and pinstripe suit in comparison to her Juicy Couture tracksuit of a bike. Her bike is probably called India or Hiawatha or something that can be shortened to C or whatever the first letter of its name is. In fact, it's probably so cool it doesn't even have a name.

I think my sense of uncoolness was magnified by my new 'Sam Browne' a reflective belt around the waist and over the shoulder. Following the accident I'm a bit nervous about being seen. I'm sure my desire to look like a clown will end eventually but for now I look like a Mexican goalkeeper.

Car-bike interface

It's finally happened: I've had an accident.

I can't go into full details yet as, although I'm fairly sure nothing will come of it, but it involved rain obscuring visibility, a late indicator because someone was lost, wet leaves causing skiddage and Reg and I survived with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises.

Lessons I have learned:

• Wear hi-vis, it's ridiculous looking but makes a massive difference.
• Leaves do not care about you, your new brakes or your welfare, they will still increase your braking distance considerably.
• Traffic wardens will attempt to ticket drivers who have pulled over to see if you're ok.
• Lying in the road is very embarrassing.
• My handlebars are magnetically attracted to my inner thighs and determined to cause massive purple bruising therein.
• I don't swear when under that kind of pressure.
• The driver will be in shock and incredibly distressed.
  
• Sometimes shit happens.

An enforced sightseeing tour

Reg and I were in Bermondsey last night and Reg had his first trip in a lift. We were off to see the lovely M. In between catching up on literally years of gossip I showed her the rudimentary basics of puncture repair and brakes. The fact is that when you first get a puncture it's horrible but if you at least know what it all looks like it's not so bad.

We headed home just before 9pm and, as in London you can see where you are if you're near the river, I decided London Bridge was our best bet. Once there I turned left and negotiated the various roads behind Waterloo. One of my greatest loves about cycling in London is that when you get a bit lost you can pull over, get off and get your bearings. I did that a couple of times.

Some nasty roadworks meant I ended up heading across Westminster Bridge towards Parliament. It was lit up and gorgeous. The one way system then meant that we went down Whitehall, passing Number 10 and watching as they started preparations for Remembrance Sunday. Before you could blink we were at Trafalger, fountains plumed in the dark and tourists' flashbulbs gave the impression of strobe lighting.

Left again and Buckingham Palace loomed ahead, a majestic and beautiful chocolate box, with handsome and watchful military guards standing outside.

Then I went up through Hyde Park corner, across the ugly but deliciously smooth new tarmac put there, presumably, for bikers. Into the park, shaking may head at the sheer selfishness of the ninjas who, without lights, appear in the inky gloom inches from your handlebars scaring the crap out of you. The new Marble Arch fountains were in full technicolor brilliance splashing audibly.

The romance ended there as I made my way through the back streets to Paddington to catch the train with Reg.

The roadworks could have been a pain and they did delay me somewhat but instead of grumpy I was thrilled, how much would tourists pay to see all that in one night?

Fleecy trousers and bike envy

I wore my winter cruisers for the first time this morning and although I was a little on the warm side my legs were flying. I was zipping around and my knee doesn't hurt so I think I may well wear them again.

I'm popping to see a friend tonight. In return for dinner I'm giving a puncture repair tutorial and catching up with all the gossip. The fleecy leggings will come in useful on the ride home methinks.

I bumped into new boy J on my way in. We've worked together for ages but he's just started commuter cycling on a rather sexy-looking Trek. It's a proper roadie and is all drop handlebars and aerodynamic tubing. Reg looked almost scruffy in comparison.

I found myself drawn to the various clumps of crud that he's accumulated, overly conscious that he hadn't had a good clean in a while. The fact that one of his pedals clicks for some unknown reason at the moment, the fact that his acutely flat handlebars are filthy, all these and more were made all the more obvious by the presence of his new shiny rival.

Of course I compensated by speeding off into the morn leaving J with a string of red lights and the spectacle of me and my scruffy bike pedalling over the horizon.... hehehehhehehe

Whitstable.... pictures of random things

The Woolwich ferry:














A handy bus stop as we wait while yet another p******* is repaired and a random stoppage in the dark:





























Hurray, some nature (a few comedic members of the crew warned me against another bike-water interface, one was not amused):



















The sea!