Cycling is fun (Photo: Rex)
One day last week I borrowed one of this newspaper's Brompton fold-up bicycles and took it for a spin along the south bank of the Thames. As a comparative novice, I could suddenly see the point of cycling. It was a lovely day: the sun shone, and the air was fresh and crisp. Cycling means that you're part of your surroundings but at the same time slightly detached, because you're higher-up and you're travelling faster than the people on the pavement.
This is a pleasant feeling; it's better than walking. You're invigorated by the heart beating faster and the lungs filling with air. You pass all human life – fast enough to see what's going on and to get away. Here is an extremely brief glimpse of my bicycle trip.
From Wandsworth I travelled to Putney along the bank of the river, with only a few detours on side roads. I whizzed through Wandsworth Park, opposite the Hurlingham Club, which gleams white through trees on the opposite bank. I overtook a platoon of cashmere-wrapped yummy mummies who strolled, five abreast, with their big Bugaboo prams.
In Putney I sped down a tree-lined road where a group of Scandinavians – tourists, they looked like – had stopped to peer at a front garden populated with about 20 painted gnomes. That was interesting enough, but the most intriguing sight I passed that afternoon was a man returning – home? to a friend's house? – with his Waitrose shopping. He looked like anyone else. But who knows what strains were bearing down on him? As he turned in to the driveway I saw him fish a half-bottle of vodka out of his carrier bag and lift it to his lips.
All of this makes bicycling fun, for me. The trouble is, as an infrequent cyclist, by the time I arrive at my destination I'm drenched in what some people used to call a "muck sweat". Assuming I can't have a shower and change into fresh clothes, what should I do about this?
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