Best friend

No, the bike is not my best friend.  Did something very weird last week and went out to "play" on the hybrid.  A delayed departure from home in the evening led me to go oh what the hell, let's do something that just involves getting out of the front door, no time to pack up and head for the hills.  So playtime.  Unusually.  On the hybrid.  There was a cunning plan.  It went something like ride on the road, up a hill or two, find the sustrans route and crack on towards the Irwell sculpture Park where you will wing it and work out later how to get home.

Which started well.  Roads worked, and miraculously nobody got lost.  Arrived at the entrance to the trail and eyed up the sign posts in a vague attempt to stick with cycle legal paths.  Gave up.  Rode anyway.  But apparently damp luke warm evenings alongside rivers with dappled shade provided by trees has a  horrible side effect.  Midges.  And it wasn't the biting which was the problem, it was the hailstone like effect of riding through the clouds.  Before long I was managing to cycle with my head down, eyes closed, mouth closed and not breathing through my nose for fear of taking the little devils on board.  And they hurt as they came in through the helmet vents and bounced off my chin and my neck and down my t-shirt and apparently also inside my bra.  Little perishers were horrible, and this is why you shouldn't ride on footpaths ...

And because my longest serving friend in the world is in hospital right now, this song is traipsing around my head:

In rain or shine
You've stood by me girl
I'm happy at home
You're my best friend

Other folk

Cycling to work would be fine if it wasn't for other people.  Finally ran out of excuses why not to get on the bike to get to work today and hopped on at 7:30am with the intention of merely pootling in.  Good job really, given it was a really heavy gravity day - heavy legs, heavy bike and particularly heavy head courtesy of half a bottle of Chardonnay last night.

I get really irked by other cyclists who pull alongside me when I'm sat patiently at red lights and then pull away while it's on the pedestrian phase.  We're traffic.  Not pedestrians.  Most irked of course when they do this repeatedly as I catch up with them at the next set of lights and we have a yo yo thing going on.  Worse still if I actually have to keep pulling out into the traffic to go round them between lights.  Working for who I do, I really don't think disobeying the highway code is an option for me when on the bike.  Having said that, I'm the kind of woman who wouldn't flaunt the law knowingly anyway.  Red lights mean stop, the pavement is for pedestrians.  I have moral standards to uphold. I just wish other people had the same standards.

Just one near death experience today so that's a good day of cycle commuting.  Manchester has some beautifully marked out cycle lanes, and there's one of these which takes the cyclist around a parking lane which becomes a left turn lane, and it can look / feel as though you're somewhat in the middle of the road.  But the lane is beautifully marked out.  Bright green fresh paint, white paint marked cyclist logo things and a white line either side of the lane.  It's clear.  It becomes even more clear, I fancy, what it is when there's an actual cyclist in the lane.  That would be me.  However, apparently not clear enough to the corsa who felt that they should venture into the lane and attempt to  physically push me out of it.  It was somewhat close, and I can't help but wonder what they thought they were doing, why they felt it was OK to physically intimidate me.  Worse still, because they came from behind me it was completely unexpected and I really wasn't ready to have a car so close to my arse as it attempted to nudge me over.  Hell is other folk.

Beautiful morning

It doesn't feel like I've been on the bike for a bit, although I would guess less than a week.  That's the oddness of not cycling at the weekend when I opted to take the walking boots with me rather than the bike.

So this morning in glorious sunshine I'm back in the saddle, and I'm loving it. The commute to work is perfection, the hills are just enough work, not too much, not too little, the lights appear to be green, there may even be birds singing (although I suspect perhaps not in the suburbs of Salford).  I note just one near death incident, which on a daily commute is the average, and four  miles into the journey I sit up and smile.  Grin in fact.  At the same point where last week driving in the car I was waving my fist with a heart rate increased through anger I'm smiling, relaxed and remembering what a wonderful way this is to travel.

Hats off

Friday night I thought I'd make an emergency dash to the allotment between showers.  Parking down my road at weekends is a nightmare, so once you have somewhere to park the car, you don't move it unless you really have to.  So, the bike beckoned.  Shoved a trowel and a few seed packets in the panniers and bunged on a pair of walking trousers with the bottom leg bits zipped off to avoid dangling in chain issues and was on my way.  On my way, but feeling something was not quite normal.  Took a minute or two to realise I'd gone out without the bike helmet on.

Not, it's not against the law to go into the streets bare headed so as it's just a couple of miles I thought I'd go with the flow.  Which is not logical reasoning at all.  Funny thing was that I felt much more aware of and vigilant about what was going on around me, and suspect in some ways its because I could hear everything much more clearly without the helmet, actually had a better sense of direction as to where car engine noises were coming from.  I was much more apprehensive about roundabouts etc..  Now, in my head, I know that this doesn't make sense, I know that on the bike I have to be mindful of my safety at all times, and I know the percentage of accident options available out there means the helmet will only save your life in a teeny percentage of incients.  So, why more mindful because I'm not wearing the helmet?  Danger is danger after all.

It's nice though, feeling the wind in your hair.

Man Down

I had thoroughly intended cycling to work today but a few days of cycling has taken its toll.  Monday was the 20 mile MTB ride, Tuesday the ride to the theatre and back, and Wednesday ride to work, then to book club and then home.  This morning I looked at the bike in horror as I attempted the ascent of my stairs at home bearing my early morning cup of tea.  I picked up the car keys instead, and with feelings of shame and guilt went about my business.

My drive to work this morning took me along the first 5 miles of my cycling commute route, chosen because it's relatively traffic free on the whole and the main hold ups are the traffic lights.  Picture my dismay at finding myself queued in traffic at 07:50 this morning in a very lengthy chain of cars disappearing into the visible distance.  The queue, however, suddenly began to move and we had achieved a reasonable consistent pace, even if only 20mph much improved on the initial stop start, one car through the lights at a time progress.

As the traffic speed returned to normal I realised what the delay had been for.  There at the side of the road was a white transit van, it's male driver making agitated mobile phone conversation, and a 4X4 with a female driver on the pavement talking to and holding steady a cyclist, still in his helmet but in recovery position and covered in a blanket.  Another cyclist was stood by, and two bikes, one mangled were on the ground.   There was no side road here, just an entrance to a plumbers yard.  I made a judgement on the spot of the likely people at fault and the innocent victims.  So clear in my head, without any facts at all, was I that I was so angry my eyes were full of tears.  Angry that the cyclist had been taken out.  Impressed also that he was clearly talking and impressed that to the assistant had not tried to remove his helmet, leaving that kind of thing for the experts.  The ambulance hadn't even arrived.

There but for the grace of <insert deity of choice> go I.  I cycle that road, straight, wide and without potholes.  That could have been me.

Happy Talk

Beautiful weather this week and more of the same forecast.  The plan is to get on the bike today (ticked that box), tomorrow and Thursday.  Thursday it's kind of incorporated in the errand of dropping the car off for service on the way to work.

So today's journey at various pointless red lights I chatted with fellow cyclists.  Two in all.  Wondering now if I can set myself a lunatic old woman target of upping this number each day.  First guy we mutually tutted at the other cyclists who set off on red light as soon as the pedestrian beeping begins.  Not giving cyclists as a whole a great name, that kind of caper.  Angers motorists and angry motorists can become aggressive and dye everyone with the same cloth.  The first guy was Afro Caribbean and had an accent which sounded like sunshine on a beach.  The second guy was some grey haired racing whippet type who made conversation and then cycled off into the middle distance.

Bugged me as at three consecutive sets of lights the same guy went on pedestrian crossing lights, and each time I'd caught up with him by the next set of lights without any particular effort.  Really, if he wants to go faster perhaps just put a bit more weight on the pedals and he'd be going the same pace as us law abiding types.  It does infuriate me, in fact, it annoys me more when I'm on the bike than when I'm in the car.  I'm a peaceful car driver who doesn't get rattled easily, after all, I'm normally on my way to work and therefore never in a hurry.

Gender difference

It must be a testosterone thing.  If I go past another cyclist it's not because I'm out to prove anything, not really, it's simply to get past an obstacle that's slowing me down.  It does give me a little hint of a buzz but it's personal to me, not about putting someone else down but a sense of reassurance to me that yes, I am of a reasonable fitness for a woman in her 40s.  It's self affirming.

I have noticed, though, that out on the road cycle commuting men behave differently.  I can understand it if it's a "training ride" (whatever they are) or a club run or similar that people are out to gain a training effect and to test themselves against others perhaps but on a commute some things just don't make sense.  The thing that didn't make sense last night was a guy on a bike not dissimilar to mine I would think, although maybe more knobbly tyred than my hybrid who overtook me on an uphill stretch, and then totally failed to maintain his speed or accelerate but instead left me wheel sucking.  Poor lad kept looking behind only to see me still on his tail.  Just cos I have pannier bags and age is not on my side is no reason to under estimate my plodding pace.



The commute home on the bike is always a bit fraught and has a little too much excitement anyway.  The way to work is lovely - I'm so early morning that there's not a lot of traffic on the road.  The way home is busier and brings out the mental cases.  I reckon I have a couple of near accidents every single journey.  That just doesn't happen in the car.

The most irksome incident yesterday was at a traffic lighted crossroads.  I was on the main road, and the lights were green.  Proper green, no hint of a red or an amber etc. but unfortunately the time I was crossing there weren't other vehicles going my way, just me, going straight on, through a green light, on a main road.  So obviously a van coming the other way wanting to turn right across me decides to do just that.  Thinks he has right of way as a motor vehicle?  Thinks I'm going to slow down (really, would he expect another car to do that?).  Outcome of incident is that he has to brake sharply, stop and allow me to continue on my journey.  I don't tend to take chances of injury / death when I'm on the bike, and had my hands on the brakes and was ready to have to be forced into a sharp left turn if the van carried on his way.  I was prepared, but also determined.  There's one incident like this for me every single evening commute home in Manchester.  You have to live on your wits.  Yet they are looking in the UK to bring in a law on death by dangerous cycling.  Need to look a little harder at other road users in my opinion.

Wiggle It.

Ah, yesterday was a golden opportunity with the weather picking up a few degrees in the April arrival of spring time.  Froze my fingers off in the morning all in the interests of being part of it by foolishly wearing fingerless gloves.  The optimism born of the weekend.

So ... trumpet fanfare ... yesterday saw the first public outing of the Shakin' My Arse T-shirt.  It was a glorious feeling, pedalling past traffic with a cheeky out of saddle bottom wiggle to emphasize the glory of the fitted pink T-shirt with resplendent wording on the back.  Rather than pissing off the motorists with political slogans designed to antagonise, and rather than doing all those morally unsound things by ignoring the rules of the road, why not, I thought, raise a smile, and hopefully I did.

Well, I suspect I did.  There was a set of lights or two which went green but traffic failed to move, hypnotised I believe by the T-shirt back.  Flaunted my wares at the odd other cyclist.  The very odd other cyclist indeed.  Unanticipated finding a 30s guy on a road bike (proper drop handle bars and everything) falling behind me on the one and only hill of my journey.  Nothing not to like there.

I really must get a photo of it.

Red Light

Something tells me this is a rant which will break out from time to time, just like squeezing a big pustulant spot, seeing all the white goo come out and knowing that in 24 hours more goo will, as if by magic, lurk all squelchy below the surface.

So, red lights, my fellow cyclists mean stop.  We are traffic, and the rules of the land do indeed apply.  You may think it does no harm to anyone, and indeed gets you on your journey in your own way, but what it does, is anger other traffic, often the four wheeled variety, and the people in their tin boxes, they then snarl at the wrongness you have committed, and indeed believe this is a trait of all two wheeled folks who then, in the eyes of the motorised box drivers deserve to die.  So indeed your actions of going through the red lights do endanger poor little old me, all vulnerable in my quaint helmet and with my Old Skool pannier bag on my Sit Up and Beg Bike.

Actually, I too resent red lights and the requirement of the law for me to sit at them behind the white line. Yes, folks, behind the white line - take note, that too is the law.  They are irritating and frustrating when the road is clear, and what's weird is I don't have this attitude in my car.  I cogitate.  After all, I have time, I'm sat at a pointless red light.

It seems to me that when I'm on my cycle commute I never stop.  Never, not unless I'm at a red light.  There aren't a lot of Give Ways on my journey and I'm early enough that if there is, a quick glance right, left and right while I'm moving is all that's needed and I carry on, no stopping.  I don't get caught in traffic queues.  I really do never stop, and red lights interrupt my flow.  Nothing else out there slows me down.  Well, maybe the odd hill.  When I was a little less fit I used to appreciate red lights.  Time for a little rest, and indeed a desperate gulp at the water bottle.  Now, they just irk.  But they are the law.

Route 55

Although I clearly pretend to be a newcomer, what with all my evangelical views on commuting to work on the bike, in reality I have a history, provenance if you like.  It has to be at least ten years since I first tried the cycle commute from my current home to my current work place.  Oh yes, I  have staying power and have remained in the same places for 13 years.

It started to get boring, the same options of routes in and routes out. I had two routes, one which took me north of Manchester City Centre and another which takes me into town and out again with a couple of mild diversions I can select between depending on whim and where I think the fittest blokes will be seen.

Since the early days when I first worked out my routes, Sustrans, it seems, have been busy and now in place are all these clearly numbered routes.  So, methinks, let's give one a go.  Because I'm a worrier, and I worry about being late to work through schoolgirlerror (getting lost) I did a Recce on Tuesday night of Route 55.   This is the boy:  http://www.sustrans.org.uk/what-we-do/national-cycle-network/route-numbering-system/route-55

What was interesting was seeing how someone else, someone possibly more experienced approached the route planning.  Also obvious was that it wasn't someone in a hurry to get to town!  The first bit of the route took me around some back streets instead of the direct route out of my local area.  All very well but the roads were as pot holed and bumpy as they come and even if it didn't slow me up, it definitely had every not firmly attached bit of the bike rattled to death.  Then weirdly there was a Cyclists Dismount sign.  A brief length of alley way then appeared.  That, in my view, is Not The Cyclist's Way.  Why would you create a bike route where you have to dismount?  It wasn't the only time.  Pedalling on a bit further and the time comes to cross the motorway.  There are perfectly good roads that go over this.  One has a traffic lighted roundabout but Sustrans feeling is clearly that the pedestrian bridge and another jolly  Cyclists Dismount sign is appropriate.  No, it's not.  I am trying to get to work, and I want the journey to be as flowing and quick as it can be; I'm not out for a leisure dawdle here folks.

From there on it was kind of decent, took me along a long stretch of really really flat road (felt weird, no hilly bits at all), with cycle segregation or cycle path all the way.  Some of it shared with pavement which always slows me up a little as people walking are less predictable than cars, and will randomly step in front of you and then there's small children, cats, push chairs etc. to contend with.  Signage could have been a little better - in two places the section I was on suddenly broke and recommenced in the right hand lane of traffic meaning crossing the traffic without warning.  The final bit as I got into town took me unexpectedly onto the pavement on the other side of the road where there was cycle provision.  That would have been complex in rush hour I feel.

What I realised is that these are routes for dawdling pedallists, not for a woman on a mission.  Horses for course I guess, and it has added some options into my ride possibilities.

Road positioning

Ah, it has all changed since I was a lass.  I remember as a cyclist waiting in queues of traffic at traffic lights feeling slightly apprehensive and uncomfortable, and remember hugging the kerb in an apology for existing.  I also remember riding without a helmet.  Lots has changed.


There are now cycle lanes marked on the road and the freedom to take any road position I please within these, keeping me away from traffic and making me feel secure in going out around drains, glass, tin cans, and general debris.  Much much safer.

Having spent 20 years hugging the kerb, all has changed.  I don't know if it's advice that has adapted or if I've only just listened to debate on the subject, but I'm now a fully signed up member of the claim the road gang.  The theory here is that however far you are from the kerb, that's approximately the amount of space a car driver will give you when overtaking.  No more  near brushes between wing mirror and handlebar with any luck.

My conversion took place following a bit of analysis of one of  my cycle commute daily near death incidences.  I like to mull over how I could have avoided being in such situations.  What happened is on a kind of normal residential road so not all that wide, a lorry overtook me.  I was, as was my practice a couple of years ago, sedately travelling maybe 8 - 10 inches from the kerb, perhaps not even that far away.  As the lorry went past me he began to move back towards the nearside to keep within the lane I presume.  The impact of this was that as his rear wheels drew level with me he was close.  Really close.  So close in fact that I had to use all my room for manouevre and was so close to the kerb that  I didn't dare risk bringing my left pedal down for fear it would hit the pavement and I would fall under the lorry.  He brushed my handlebars.  I reckon this situation would have been avoided if I had been more like 12 - 18 inches from the kerb, highly visible, and instead of something he just passed without having to make a pulling out decision I would have been a proper obstacle and my chances of remaining alive would be greatly enhanced.  The Institute of Advanced Motorists puts this forwards as their view too.  Which is nice.


Us old burds are somewhat slow to change our ways sometimes, and another thing I have had to grow into are the advanced stop lines for cyclists.  Having cautiously attempted to use a few of these, I now love, adore and embrace them.  So much so that when I find naughty motorists not complying I have been moved (recently) to write to my MP suggesting a poster campaign so that motorists goddam use them.  Our highway code advises thusly:

"Motorists, including motorcyclists, MUST stop at the first white line reached if the lights are amber or red and should avoid blocking the way or encroaching on the marked area at other times, e.g. if the junction ahead is blocked"

Wouldn't it be wonderful if they did stop at the first line and not in my box.  I get all possessive.  The wonder of these boxes is that rather than sit within a queue of traffic where, once it all gets moving I will be a frustrating obstacle to those behind me, I move safely into the advance box, and stand there proudly, hogging centre stage if I'm honest, and once the lights change, that's it, I'm off.  I find it funny still that with very little effort the first few pedal strokes away from the line is consistently faster away than the cars move away from the lights.  I'm out of the way before they are moving, an let's face it, it only takes a distance of maybe 6 foot to ride into enough space that the car drivers can get through and all are happy.  Where, as is frequent in Manchester City Centre, cars instead of waiting behind block these lanes it does pose a problem.  If there is enough traffic that I haven't realised my coveted green box is occupied then I'm moving to the front of the queue only to find there is nowhere legal to go.  All I can safely do is plonk myself in front of the car and in front of my box, often with a compromised view of the lights.  Awkward and puzzling.  My safe at  home debriefs have reached only the conclusion that motorist education not my education is at fault here.

Night Rider

No, unfortunately this isn’t an entry regarding the older woman’s scrummy heart throb that is David Hasselhoff.  That would be sheer self-indulgence …

Last night I went to the theatre.  If you’re interested it was a truly tremendous performance of King Lear at the Lowry with Derek Jacobi in the lead role.  A beautiful cloudless spring day, and on this occasion no requirement to meet up with my mobility impaired friend to assist her transport; a free agent in fact.  Logically, with the theatre only 5 miles away, and with the parking fees there somewhat exorbitant (in my opinion), the bike made sense.

However, the quivering jelly mess of emotion that is my brain put up a few objections:

1. Where will I leave the bike, and will it get nicked; my flexi locks are ancient and one of them I only need to pull and it opens up, wibble.
2. What on the earth do I wear that will work for cycling and then for theatre?
3. Really, you want to cycle back through Langworthy at 11 at night, are you crazy?
4. Gibber, blip.

Broken down into pieces it’s quite easy to tackle such matters.  Locks, well, that’s an investment which will reap rewards long term so let’s do it, let’s buy new locks and perhaps spend slightly more than £2.50 on them.  So off I go to Halfords.  As a British Cycling member I get a 10% discount on Halfords, but it’s a reward only for the well prepared planners and as such I don’t qualify with a same day want.   Basically the deal for the highly organised customer is to call Halfords customer service desk which is actually awesome and helpful and advise of the intended value of your purchase as it is on the shelf, and give the secret code for members out.  They then calculate a 10% off – so a £55 purchase, they will take £50 off your credit card and put vouchers for £55 into the post for you which arrive pretty damn quick.  Last time I did it, I ordered at 2pm on Thursday and postie caught me in my dressing gown at 07:30 on the Friday morning.  However, you pay a penalty for failure to plan so off I went to Halfords prepared to pay full price for two new flexi locks.  Getting there I found Halfords had a 3 for 2 offer on such things which was cool as I came out with two steel cable locks and also a new U lock.  Heavy as hell and £50 down but worth it for the reassurance.

I’ve nothing to wear.  How many times have I used that phrase in the average, oh, week anyway?  When it came down to it, the restrictions made it simple – it’s got to be leggings and a tunic top really with the FMBs in the biking rucksack for a sneaky change of footwear.  I don’t really do leggings and it was only an odd conjunction of planets which meant there was actually  a pair of Dunnes best £2 leggings lurking in the bottom of the pyjama drawer.  On those went over a pair of padded knickers (oh yes, such things do exist).  Clothing wise, all that was left for me to do was avoid sweating.

Night riding.  I have lights (another heavy investment this year), what on the earth am I wittering on about.  They are really good lights, I can actually see stuff in the road if I angle them right.  Besides which, having a stern word with myself, my 67 year old mother frequently cycles to choir practice and theatre performances throughout the year in the evenings.  I should be made of better stuff.

So, I get on my bike and I ride.  And it’s tremendous.  I pretty much spin on the way there to avoid sweating, and it’s a fresh kind of spring evening anyway.  The 5 mile journey is over in no time, seemingly 20 minutes, and I have friendly jokey interaction with car drivers in Langworthy and all is well.  I also get to cycle through Media City which is all fresh and new and pleasant.  When I get to the Lowry I look for somewhere to park the bike – can’t believe such a modern place has no dedicated bike parking.  I finally find a bike which looks more expensive than mine and tether mine up adjacent to it.  And yes, it’s still there when the play is over. 

And the ride home at quarter to eleven.  My, the ride home.  Awesome, fantastic, amazing are words which spring to mind.  I owned the road, I owned the night, I own the world.  Endorphins and adrenaline so high after the ride that sleeping was quite difficult, what with bouncing off the ceiling.  Perfect.

Superfluous picture of the Hoff.