I bought a bike yesterday

I bought a bike yesterday. I wasn't going to but its Christmas, and finding myself in the biggest superstore in the world, one where slim girls on roller blades skim past you like metoeors on a summer night. Perhaps to stop thje boredom of shopping I find myself looking at the bikes. I had it in mind to buy one. It's not that I need one. I have one at home but its such a pain transporting it in the car to go riding anywhere nice. Then I have never felt the spongy bounce of a bike with springs. All the modfern ones have them these days. It wasn't even that Stephen's words, "It'll be a sin not to have a mountain bike round here" rang too loudly. Nor even the obvious truth that I ned to get out an exercise far more. No I think it was the sheer helpfulness of the shop assistant. "Can I help you?" "So you would like a bike?" "This one is no good for you it is too small, you need one this size.""Oh we have no more of that sort but I will see what I have in the store." i was genbuyinely delighted to leave the store pushing a new bycycle.

That was lucky I thought. I had been mullling over the idea of buying a keyboard, even had a look at some music in a shop a few days ago. I had to explain to the shopkeeper there that I played three instruements, all badly. In fact, I didn't have time to play three instruments which ios why I am so bad at each. I practice little enough for one, so dividing my limirted skills between three is fairly foolhardy. However, my logic is that I am developing the skill of sight reading music rather than making any noticeably good sound.

So tonight I found myself on my first bike ride in the new campaign to be healthy and fit. I say first bike ride. Of course as soon as I got back yestreday I took it out the wrapper. Tightened up a few nuts and set off up the road. I would have said down the road but you notice slight inclines as if they were Anurpurna when you are on a bike. Within seconds I was wheezing like a lifetime smoker, sucking a car exhaust, with a tourniquet round the throat. My knees ached and tore senew with every push. I will not go into the delights of the gentlemans saddle which was provided, surely by Spanish Inquisition and Brother Co. Ltd.

True to say a half hour round the block exhausted me enough for me to realise that I had to go further and quickly if I'm ever to get fit. So off I set. The sun was already setting and bright light from the western mountains cast shadows on the wintry hillsides. The golden browns of autumn wer still bright on the cork oak and contrasted with the redddish glow of the bare fruit orachards. Towering high above the whiote capped Canigou oozed cold air down to this valley to bite the cheeks and fingers.

Off I set vaguely hopeful to reach Finestret. After taking it easy the 600 metres to the turning, the firts point of no return, I pleased myself by pressing onwards. Puffing and rosy cheeks by now I was still able to percieve the slight but noticeable incline that made heavy work of the job at hand. Exhaustion was easdily forgetable to the pain induced by that seat. It's true that from your childhood days, you never forget how to ride a bike. My word it must be equally true, as you get older, that you do forget how to sit on an uncomfortable saddle.

At Joc, I turned westward into the dimming sky. A road on the right offered a possibility of a second quick return, but one unknown to me, and I shunned it. ahead in a dip, stood Finistret. I hate the thought of dips. The instant pleasure of picking up speed and the fastare and faster clackety clack of the cogs. Moving up the gears and picking up speed. Knowing that regrets will soon come. Every dip is follwed by another hill.

Actually, I don't recall another hill coming out of Finestret. A lovely village by now in half light with yellow street lights casting shadows across the narrow winding turning lane. Down hill and across a bridge and a sharp right again alonmg the river, cut deep into a gorge. Woodland opens out to flat farmland and orchards soon to be covered by the growing darkness. Time to light the gloom by the 3 volt headlamp and red glow of the rear light.

"Not too fast down this gentle slope. Remember the time when you were pressing on along the river towpath and hit a half brick? Ended up half over the handles bars and hit an elderberry tree. Not tonight! Not here in the middle of the macquis! Still I have a phone. I'm somwhere on a road past Finistret. No I don't know where." Still going downhill, mostly, up in high gears.

"I know its the main road. That will be the killer up hill. Then that long dusty drag into the village. I bet that's up hill all the way." "I'll be able to get off and walk". It was very black by the time I hit the main road. There was not too much nosiy traffic, although the fumes were noticeble. Having taken my downhill rest I was ready for the hill, and for three quarters of it my speed and by now general fitness overcome the difficulty with ease. So too the long drag into the village. By now I must have swept away the cobwebs and grown in fitness. I must be stronger than I thought. I could do that again! Maybe later in the week?