I find it hard to say I am a cyclist. My daily journeys on two wheels hardly seem to merit the term. I’m a person with a bike, which I acquired by accident rather than design. That probably makes me even more of a fake.
I was mildly embarrassed today when I was hailed by a real cyclist, one who cycles lots of miles and threads his way through London, as one of his tribe. I felt like a complete fraud.
I am the most faint hearted of bike riders. I am scared rigid of lorries, of fast cars that drive within ten feet of me, of turning right, of unheeding pedestrians, of unknown roads, of potholes. Continue reading