Life Cycle

I was up a ladder doing a spot of painting in the picturesque town of Gourgé. It was one of the many bank holidays in May, and the one day of the month it didn't rain. I was on a relatively busy road, for France; a car would pass every ten minutes, as well as a constant stream of cyclists who were following the river Thouet bike trail, which got me thinking. 

Back at the compound I announced to Anna, my wife, the plan for us to cycle from Parthenay to Thouars, at which I saw her rolling her eyes. To be fair to her I do have a tendency to come up with ludicrously ambitious (often expensive) plans which, when reality sinks in, become scaled down dramatically. My ability to underachieve has always filled me with a sense of pride (for my O levels I got straight Cs across the board).

Our bikes had not been ridden for two years, so I hauled them from the shed, blasted all the bat poo off them with my trusty Karcher, pumped the tyres up and oiled the rusty chain with some chainsaw oil. After an initial controle technique I discovered the brakes were jammed, the gears didn't work, two of the tyres were shredded and two of the inner tubes were punctured. 

Bicycles look relatively simple things compared to...a car, for example. I recently changed a headlight bulb on our Dacia and that was a complicated procedure...a car has a lot of stuff under the bonnet and I had to virtually dislocate my wrist to complete the task. 

Back to the bike...I had every Allen key and spanner from my shed, my hands covered in chainsaw oil, effs and jeffs were filling the air, but I couldn't stop the brakes from jamming, whilst at the same time emitting a hideous squealing noise (the bike, not me). Maybe Anna could use her brake once, when she really needed to, I thought. After several YouTube clips and the purchasing of the most expensive tyres and inner tubes known to man (which cost more than the bike itself), the things were road worthy. 

Often when enjoying liquid refreshment at the Café in Saint Loup a group of ageing cyclists in their vacuum-packed lycra outfits, padded bottoms and funny shoes will stop for a respite after completing 30k. I consider myself a relatively fit person, but after riding 50 yards down the road to see if the chain would fall off, my hips were aching and buttocks quivering. When I was a kid I was never off my bike; I cycled to school everyday, cycled to rehearsals in Watford which was a two hour round trip, in the dark, with no lights...now, just getting on it seemed a challenge.

So it was decided we would do a small initial outing, avoiding hills, or inclines of any kind...we were looking for somewhere flat...which was challenging. If we could incorporate the eating of a meal into the plan, so much the better. 

A picnic was prepared and stuffed into two rucksacks, the bikes thrown into the back of the van and my dream of cycling a section of the Thouet cycle route was about to be realised. 

In Airvault there is a beautiful park which runs parallel to the river; there are picnic tables, swings, slides, exercise equipment, even a couple of sculptures (I have never seen anyone in the park walking a dog, picnicking or using the equipment...every town in France has an obligatory sports field and recreation park, I never see children playing football or climbing on the frames, what do French children do with their time...French TV must be very good). 

We enjoyed a leisurely ride along the banks of the river, which after all the rain was at its pulsating best (great tree trunks wedged in the banks having been swept down stream from the winter battering). It was good to be back in the saddle, albeit briefly. I felt like a carefree child again... the wind blowing in my now thinning hair and the reassuring sound of a rubbing gear shifter. I nearly took my hands off the handle bar like old times...but didn't. After consuming a sizeable picnic the return journey seemed longer...things were rubbing together and starting to chafe. We estimate we did three kilometres in all, the tour de France this was not, but great oaks from little acorns grow. The bikes performed well, although Anna's brake cable popped out at one point and she went careering towards the river screaming. Having prior knowledge of the unreliable nature of her brakes she managed to stop in time by dragging her legs along the ground and making an ungraceful dismount into some woodland vegetation. 

For the following week, whenever Anna sat down she winced and said she had done something to her coccyx. 

Addendum: I would like to dedicate this article to Ari Louisa Jeans-Shaw (our first grandchild) who came into the world on the 23^rd May and is an absolute poppit.