There was me thinking cycling to work was a solitary occupation. The kind of thing poets and philosophers might happily participate in. Long periods of no company but your own, in your own world, free to muse on the accumulation of litter around the Lower Broughton McDonalds, free to consider the state of the pot holes and drainage as you circle Cheetham Hill and to contemplate the permanent all season puddle along the Alan Turing Way.
Imagine, therefore, my surprise at finding my ride from work was in fact a spectator participation event. There I am, minding my own business, pedalling steadily away through the roads around the Salford Student Village, being mindful of progress across the roundabout in readiness for the one and only minor uphill on the way home when suddenly, there it is. A shout. A coach style "Pick it up" is yelled at me from the side of the road. And indeed I do pick it up, because that was the plan anyway. Still, nice to feel part of something bigger.
This morning, in honour of the start of British Summer time (I believe the finish is next week) I am wearing light weight walking shorts over my lycra. Do not be fooled, this was not through some misplaced belief the weather would actually be sunny. Indeed it related more to an anticipation of rain. The lightweight shorts will not flap like sodden sails around my legs when the rain starts and in showers will be quick drying too. But short they are, and the shortness is noticed. Hoots happen.
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