Since then, I've tried twice to update my blog, but it seemed too self indulgent somehow, too irrelevant. Today changed that, and, as usual, I can thank the bicycle.
In recent years, I've often been accused of having no emotions. This is because some people can be confused by the fact that I don't become emotional. I have very different ways of dealing with things compared with how I used to, but that doesn't mean I don't feel anything anymore. I have nothing against those who show their emotions easily. Depending on which texts you read, the samurai of Imperial Japan would cry at the drop of a hat! Shedding manly tears at feats of bravery or sacrifice, a samurai would think nothing of blubbering in front of others. This would certainly not mean any loss of honour. However, this is not something I choose to do anymore. I still express my feelings, but not as others would expect.
People deal with negative emotions in different ways: Some people eat comfort food, some people binge drink. Some talk to friends, some become withdrawn. There may be those that turn to drugs (legal or otherwise) or counselling, meditation, crying, TV, violence, housework, screaming, massage...
I turn to cycling.
Actually, that's not fair on my other forms of exercise. There's a lot to be said for the healing power of Karate given the immense concentration required to perform a technique correctly. Weight training can invigorate the mind while it punishes the muscles in your body. Running gives a person time to reflect and find the inner calm as the body settles into a rhythm. However, it is the bike that calls to me the most - that tempts me out outdoors to test myself once again. To find myself.
So, the bike. Today was glorious. Right from the start the sun was bright, the wind little more than a playful breeze, and the roads bone dry. Jonnie and I set off towards Honiley at a little after 8:30 as soon as I had swapped my all-weather tyre for 23mm Italian rubber. Jonnie was in good spirits and we set about trying to find some Strava PRs inbetween telling stories and chatting. We cruised through Snitterfield, some 20 miles later, with an average of 15.8 mph which was very respectable for us. I took over at the front and lent into the bike. We arrived at our tea stop with the average still way above 15mph.
A puncture as soon as we set off didn't spoil our mood. We sat on a garden wall to repair Jonnie's flat tyre and the owner of the garden came out to chat. He was a respectable gentleman in his 70s, maybe even 80s and he told us about how he used to cycle - sometimes as far as 20 miles in a day! I couldn't help but wonder what cycling stories I'd have to tell when I reached his age.
On the way home, the target was clear: keep the average above 15mph in the 16 miles of climbing that lay before us. I took the lead and applied myself to the task, Jonnie hot on my wheel.
And then it was Forde Hall Lane and I was climbing.
Suddenly alone, I settled into the pain and found myself momentarily free of the physical demands of the body, my mind free to wander, perfectly relaxed. I was aware of the weight of the heat of the sun pressing on me, the brilliant colours of the sky and vegetation all around. The hum of the wheels on the road was the only sound I could focus on. The bike will set you free, and there I was, floating. I felt the cycles within me, of the human body, of life and death. I hoped there was a God and I pressed harder on the pedals and I saw Dad fishing with Grandad on a wide slow-moving river in some neverending perfect vision of English countryside. The gears changed without me having to think about it and everything I had done in my life led up to the point where I reached the top of the climb and then the road levelled and my breathing slowed and the bike carried me along home.
And the wheel turned.
42miles at 15.2mph
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