Sunday, July 8

Tour de Cambridge

I'm not the world's greatest cyclist.

Books that educate you how to be a good writer always suggest a snappy first line, so there's mine.

My cycling career was curtailed when I lied to my parents about biking past the edge of our street as a 6 year old. I hit the side of a van and told mum and dad that a garbage truck had backed over my bike ... on a Sunday.

I never had a bike again as a kid. If ever I asked, I was fed the line "We'll see", which is a polite euphemism for "No fucking chance".

A month ago I joined Anne on a Sunday fun ride only to find myself stuck in first gear. Consequently I had to make little effort to propel forward but at a top speed of about 5 mph.

So today after watching a Brit not win Wimbledon for the 76th consecutive year, I worked out the gears on my complex bicycle, and we headed for the other side of Cambridge to look at Mt Auburn Cemetery. It's kind of like Père Lachaise in Paris but without the corpse of anyone who fronted The Doors.

The cemetery is awesome, but after 6 miles of river promenade pedaling in 80°+ heat the last thing you want to do is climb a bunch of hills to check out the tombstones of rich 18th Century Cantabrigians.

Another 6 miles home, and a long cool shower later I'm trying not to treat today's ride like a ski trip.

I like skiing, but after a day on the piste (quiet at the back), I realize how easy it would have been for me to die. So I ski once every 10 years.

No comments: