Get-Up-And-Go

Well I did cycle again today, into Framlingham to get some fruit for my breakfast oats, and to post a parcel. It's maybe two miles by road the back way, so not far, but there is another big hill. From here into town is virtually all downhill so I was able to take it easy, coasting much of the way. But when I came to the sudden plunge I hit the brakes as I did yesterday, slowing my progress to a comfortable speed. I felt sad that I couldn't just set the bike free and experience the exhilaration of acceleration, the wind in my hair, the fields rushing past, but I was too scared. And then I wondered if I had always been timid in this way, afraid to let myself go. I had a sudden memory of a path in Marymead, near where we lived in Stevenage when I was 10, 12. The path, paved and winding through a housing estate, plunged steeply for several hundred yards, and boys, it was always boys, would hover at the top on their roller skates then push themselves off and, crouching low, negotiate the steep run at top speed. How often I wavered at the top on my own skates, longing to take the plunge too but assessing the risks and knowing I wasn't skilled enough to steer a safe course. I never did that ride, but another memory came into my head, of whizzing down a steep hill helter-skelter on my bike, legs stuck out either side, head back, shouting into the rush of air that hit my face. It wasn't a one off: sometimes there would be another child on the back, and sometimes that child would be me. If there wasn't anywhere to perch the cyclist would stand and the passenger take the seat. And it wasn't always the same hill, and I see myself at many different ages.

What a relief! I wasn't timid, but climbed trees higher than anyone else, careless of the dangers, trespassed freely where others feared to go. I scoffed at the cautious then. Well, speed and heights have got the better of me now, though I'm always up for a bit of trespass. When it came to the return journey I was pleased to be able to cycle the whole way without having to dismount, my legs pumping steadily up the sudden sharp incline. There's life in the old dog yet.