Like so many of my fellow countrymen, Lockdown has encouraged yours truly to venture forth on two wheels, which can involve a lot of climbing with the Sussex Downs rising steeply behind Eastbourne. The flat option is to cycle along the coast, which I confess has been my preferred choice most of the time.
Cycle sales have gone through the roof, with a dramatic increase in mountain biking in particular. But electric bikes have also become popular, despite their elevated price. I’ve always been somewhat dismissive of them, as the electric power seems to defeat the whole purpose of cycling for good health. However, whilst enjoying some Welsh hospitality yesterday, I was allowed a brief excursion on my hostesses’s new birthday present. My cynicism was rapidly deflated as this wonderful sensation of power kicks in as soon as the pedals turn. You still have to work quite hard, especially going uphill, but it allows you to zoom up even steep slopes at a good pace. It was a Damascene conversion even quicker than Saul’s. My father always used to smoke St Julien pipe tobacco, but I am certainly not expecting imminent canonisation; merely that I am now saving up for my first electric bike. Having just spent seven hundred quid on a new mountain bike for Master Oliver, I fear it may be some time before I become jet-propelled though.
I was visiting old friends in Wales, not seen for many a moon. The all too brief sojourn included a men’s four on a neighbour’s hard court, the three hard sets of which left me feeling closer to eighty than sixty, followed the next day by a round of golf at the superb Royal Porthcawl links. After swallowing the much needed ibuprofen we set forth with all the enthusiasm of young stags. My old buddy is a former Captain of RPGC and a regular Club Champion, but he started uncharacteristically poorly while I hit enough good shots to encourage hope of a close contest. However, by the turn he was firing on all (or nearly all) cylinders whilst I was investigating parts of the beautiful course that are normally only visited by rabbits and snakes. My hopelessness was all the more depressing having convinced myself that I had found the “secret”. It was a rare outing and like many players I find that I become a considerably better player the longer I don’t play. The problem is that I was playing from memory and my memory is now almost non-existent.
My uselessness of the fields of battle has finally convinced me that a major effort is required to reduce the girth, which has grown more than somewhat in recent months. My wonderful guru says cut out gluten, dairy and sugar (most carbs). Alison (my wife) has just achieved an incredibly disciplined remodelling and so it’s time for me to follow suit. I am hoping that by going public with this, my resolve might be stiffened. As the old Vera Lynn song goes, “wish me luck, as you wave me goodbye….”
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