Cycling proficiency

I have ridden to work a few times in the last couple of weeks but still didn't really feel like a proper cyclist. Wednesday, however, saw me earning my cycling commuter stripes.

This Wednesday, feeling a bit cocky after almost halving the time it takes me to get to work in a couple of weeks, I pushed my bike out of the underground car park at work and swung my leg over the bike like a pro. Unfortunately, I'm not a pro, and I continued the sideways momentum to the floor and managed to graze both knees causing one knee (my bad one, typically) to swell horribly, graze my palm, pull my trapezius and bruise my arse. All this from toppling off a stationary bike. It was not one of my prouder moments.

I'm not really sure how I managed to cause such damage from a minor topple, but I have analysed the black-box of my memory and I think I have established how I probably made things worse. Below follows my thought process during the split-second event:

Me: "Am cyclist; see me gracefully champion the mounting of a bike."

Swings leg over bike, and begins to lose balance.

Me: "Ah. I did not foresee this. Do I recall seeing anyone else about? No. Good. Gosh, the hard-looking concrete ground appears to be meeting me at haste."

Puts hand out to avoid meeting ground with face. Grazes palm and one knee and bounces bottom off ground (which turns out not to be as padded as once thought).

Me: "Ah. That somewhat stings. Oh. This is a new bike!"

Attempts to throw self under the bike to break the bike's fall. Fails miserably, but manages to entangle other leg in the bike resulting in a horrible impact to knee, which immediately registers its indignation at being used as cannon fodder by swelling impressively.

Me: "I don't want to commute anymore."

Crawl pathetically away from bike like a drunk raccoon. Stand bike up and tentatively attempt to remount bike. Survives this technical manoeuvre and slowly rides away, leaving my pride and bits of skin in tatters.

On arriving home, I instantly demanded sympathy from Husband, who was sensible enough not to mock me at this point. I then spent the evening wondering if I'd chipped my patella as I couldn't bend my knee (turns out it isn't chipped, I'm just a wuss).
I still went to dog club that night, but Husband drove. Tangent seemed to be overly fond of banging into my knees during the session, leaving me wondering if he hadn't quite forgot the time when I accidentally poked him in the eye with my toe.

Taken after getting home from fall

Taken three days after what has become known

as 'the incident'

 This hasn't put me off riding to work, but I sure have a lot more respect for skilled cyclists. And concrete floors, definitely more respect for concrete floors.

My daily nemesis

It takes me about 45 minutes to walk to work, and about 35 of those minutes is spent trudging up Feeder Road. This unassuming path has become a daily torture to me that I've decided I simply must address. Every step I take on Feeder Road is a step closer to insanity. I kid you not; Feeder Road is making me a little crazy.

It may seem a little extreme hating an inanimate object as much as I do, but that's the problem. Feeder Road is just too inanimate. It's so dull! One long, straight path stretching 1.5 miles. The only thing that could make it worse would be if it was a hill, with an upward incline on the way home. Or maybe if it was a Travellator and I was trying to walk in the opposite direction. No, wait, it already feels like that.

For your viewing pleasure, I've added a crude rendition of Feeder Road below. I could have coloured it in, and applied perspective and depth. But no, Feeder Road, you don't deserve that.

I think my absolute hate of this road stems from my complete lack of patience with anything. That and my constant need to be amused and entertained. Feeder Road aggravates both.

My first attempt at combating Feeder Road Fatigue was to run to and from work. This was awesome for a few weeks; more than halving my time spent commuting. Then Feeder Road gave me tendonitis, so I had to stop running for a while. Score 1 to the road. I briefly contemplated driving to and from work, but the thought of braving commuter traffic made me baulk. That and the £18 a day it would cost to park somewhere.

So, I have now invested in a bike and I'm going to attempt to cycle to and from work. This isn't as straight-forward as it sounds for several reasons. Firstly, I haven't ridden a bike since I was 12 years old, and that was with stabilisers and some kind of preternatural power keeping me upright (can the sheer force of childhood imagination alone halt the laws of physics?). Secondly, although Bristol is described as a cycle city, what this actually means is that drivers spend an inordinate amount of time picking spokes, shards of disc brakes and human bone out of their tyres.

Feeder Road; you will not win

Pensions

It's time to opt for our new benefit selections at work (i.e. pensions, medical insurance, cycle schemes etc.), so there have been several presentations put on to help us choose.

I toddled off to one this morning expecting the mysteries of fiscal savviness to be unravelled. Unfortunately, I have never been mathematically minded, so to me the description of the cycle scheme sounded something like this:

"The total cost is spread over the year and you pay the remaining 3% value dependant on the agreed depreciation rate of cottage cheese times the airing time of bamboo  flippety blippety doopy boop boop."

By the time you leave the presentation you're left feeling a little bit retarded, wondering how you were even considered competent enough to have your own bank account. The rest of the day is spent picturing your future old self wearing fingerless woolly gloves, eating cold beans out of a tin and unable to move under the weight of twenty threadbare blankets, cursing your younger self for investing in a bike instead of a pension.