The hard sell

"So, you'll want stabilisers."

I walked into my local bike shop for the first time and I felt like I'd entered a secret society.

Shacklegriblers hung from walls. Men with focused faces walked about with purpose. Words were whispered in code.

I felt a tad out of my depth.

It's weird. I've spent years hiding the fact that I couldn't ride a bike. Excuses were made with friends and, on press trips, I had to pretend I had a phobia.
But since writing this blog, I've been admitting it to so many people. It's now like a badge of honour. "Yes, I can't ride a bike. But dammit, I'm trying to learn."

And so here I was, in a shop I'd walked past hundreds of times before. By the way, this ranks as the second manliest thing I've done, after buying a hammer.

I'd gone in to pick up a pump. While Monty has a nifty one that I occasionally will use as a stand-in lightsaber (stand-in, that is, until they perfect the science), Diana needed a new one. She's got this weird valve (ahem) which needed an adaptor and a pump.

Anyway, in I went.

I went for the casual browser method of shopping to start off with. Just looking around and blending in with the background. I wouldn't stand out, I'd just seem like a man who'd been in a thousand bike shops before. I was one of them.

When I realised I was the only one in the shop,  I approached the chap behind the counter. He went for the hard sell at first, pointing me in the direction of the second coolest looking pump I'd ever seen. You could stand on it and push a plunger up and down. I guess it's based on one of those vehicles you see on train tracks in films, usually controlled by someone causing mischief or in a mishap.

When I told him about the learning the stabiliser suggestion hit the table. I gave a polite laugh, guessing he was joking.

He wasn't.

He seemed a little upset.

A little embarrassed, I picked up the cheapest pump in the shop, a free cycling map and a leaflet from the groovy people at Sustrans for a bike pack. Lovely.

I'm trying to get into the whole bike culture. I've joined The Times Cycle Safety campaign and now I've been in my first bike shop.

Let's hope the second visit is a little more successful.

No pain, no gain

There comes a time when you have a dining experience that blows everything else out of the water.

When the finest ingredients work in harmony with each other.

When the chef is at the top of their game.

When the ambiance and experience of your venue blends seamlessly with your state of mind.


Tonight I had baked beans and fish fingers for tea.


While it goes completely against what I should be eating, and while there was nothing fresh in sight, it was bloody good.
The tasty breadcrumbed fish worked beautifully with the tomatoey beans. The chef had cooked the meal perfectly. And, with an old episode of The Simpsons on, it was a nice time to relax.

So, while the WTB was enjoying a double zumba spectacular, I was tucking into the best that Cpt Birdseye and Mr Heinz had to offer. Pure comfort food.

Saturday. That's my next bike lesson. I spoke to my eldest brother Rich and he recommended the gel pad I fitted to the saddle on Sunday. "You'll get callouses in place you didn't know existed," he said, chuckling down the phone.
He's right you know. I'm pretty sure I've got a normal body but once I start riding properly (see, positive thinking) there will be aches and pains in my shacklegribbler.
And, while I'm laughing here at the Carry On-esque sentence I've just written, give me a few weeks and I'll look back at those words and curse that innuendo-laden sentence.

As I'm working Sunday I've got Tuesday off. Yet another day of avoiding the pub and I'm planning to do some riding on my own.

Bravery, don't fail me now.

What's in a name?

I name a lot of things I own. The majority are bad puns or linked somehow to a C/D list celeb.

I have a Diana camera I call Vickers.

Our mint plant is called Murray.

Our thyme is called Chico.

I even make the WTB name things. Her Dawes bike we Christened Diana.

So, my bike. What should I call it? 

It's a Mongoose, kindly donated by my eldest brother. It's black with red writing. As it's a Mongoose I was tempted by Riki-Tiki-Tavi but that's a bit long. Instead I've gone for Monty. She is called Monty.

Monty is a python and mongooses fight snakes so there's a link, of sorts.

The countdown has begun until I get back in the saddle. I've spent some time looking at various blogs and accounts of people learning to ride at an advanced age. It's nice to know I'm not alone in this.

It's one of those situations where the more you learn, the more you realise how little you know

I've bought a cycling magazine, which I will be cribbing from so I can actually sound like I know something. Although a singular magazine won't help that much, it is a start.

My dad's motto is: Bullshit Baffles Brains. It's something I try and stick by and I know it'll come in useful when I start talking cycling to people. He uses the term shacklegribbler a lot. I may adopt it.

I've also checked out Bike Hub - it's rather nifty as it can help you plan routes around the area depending on what kind of experience you have or how far you can get there.

As you can tell, I'm taking this seriously. It's something I'd love to get sorted so I can get the miles in before the wedding in September.

I know that, to start, I'm going to fall off. I will fall off a lot. I know I'll probably cut myself. All I can do is keep getting back on until I get that balance.