I’ve been watching my daughter cycle whilst on holiday. She doesn’t know I’m paying her any particular attention, so her actions are completely natural. She picks up her bike, hops on the saddle and speeds down the track that separates the caravans from the tents and the mobile homes from the cabins. The pedals spin around and bash her shins. She pushes herself down low over the cross bars, emulating time trial coverage from the Tour De France. She speeds over the bobbly bits and yells ‘CYCLO CROSS, DADDY!’ She stands on the pedals and she chucks her bike on the floor.
Ask yourself, when was the last time that you chucked your bike on the floor? ‘Cos I’ll freely admit that I don’t do it. I won’t bloody do it. The damn things cost too much and I care too much about them. I don’t want a ripped saddle, scuffed paintwork or derailleur derailment. But does any of that really matter? Evelyn is blissfully unaware of these concerns. The bike is just fun. Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun. You have to envy (and admire) the uncluttered mind. Free to enjoy what’s right in front of you – right here, right now. The bike – for its part – plays its role to perfection; providing endless fun and liberating freedoms.