Lessons from a born-again Cyclist

Just over a year ago, buoyed my Olympic enthusiasm and environmental energy (as well as the chance to put more pennies in the ongoing Arsenal season-ticket fund) I decided to try cycling to work for a week. I even wrote a blog on this esteemed website about my 'Get-to-work-on-time-trial', and as you can see from my final paragraph that day, seemed fairly confident of continuing:

‘So in conclusion, it seems that if I'm happy to get up five minutes earlier and get home five minutes later, I can get fit, save the environment, have a more comfortable commute and save a fair amount of cash. I've felt wide awake and full of energy at work, and my suits should last longer too. I'll need some car-lift favours from my wife occasionally, when I need to be in early or home late, but in return she'll get a fitter and slightly sweatier husband. The big unknown is the weather - it was fine for the whole week, with barely any wind or rain, but I'll keep going until either my colleagues subtly move their desks away, or I have to be rescued by the Buckinghamshire Ambulance service, peeling me off the bike that I'm frozen to, covered in oil and muttering about improving my cadence.'

Well, 12 months on and I'm still loving cycling to work. The weather has been tamed, and my fears of co-workers finding my cyclists' smell repugnant has proved entirely unfounded - they even gave me a new desk in the corner! However, the year hasn't gone by without a few hard-learnt lessons...

1. You’ve got to get the right gear

I started out planning to use my existing array of unused football shirts, running shorts, and ancient Red trainers (which I’ve been trying to throw away for years, but their sad holely appearance always persuaded me to keep them for gardening or the like). However, after just a week of cycling to work I decided to treat myself to a new backpack - a beautiful sleek red racing bag, complete with tuck-away rain cover and pockets. Lots of pockets. Now, this may sound weird but I’m pretty convinced it made me cycle faster, which I wasn’t previously aware a bag could do. Sadly, that can’t be said for the waterproof shorts I bought at the same time. Whilst they did a sterling job at keeping the water away from my shivering legs, they also doubled-up as a full orchestra, making a tremendous noise which saved me having lights on my bike, as anyone could hear my approach from 100 yards away. On advice from my 30km-a-day Cousin, I also bought some bright reflective winter gloves. At first I thought it was a cruel cyclist initiation joke as I pulled on the over-sized bright yellow monstrosities, but soon found they were incredibly effective at getting across your message to those drivers who enjoy squeezing me into the gutter.

2. You’ve got to avoid the wrong gear

The first day I cycled in real rain, I was strangely excited. Ready to brave the elements in my noisy shorts and showerproof jacket, I strode out ready to give up my wet-weather virginity and become a cycling man. However, it turns out that ‘showerproof’ and ‘waterproof’ are two different things. Within a minute of cycling head-first into a beautifully created low-pressure weather system, I was desperately trying to turn the sleeves of my already-soaked jacket around to give my arms another minute’s protection, to no avail. Still, I did get a seat on the train that day. The Red trainers finally gave up the ghost a few weeks in to rainy season, their persuasive holes having their flaws brutally exposed and leaving my socks to fend for themselves. I also learnt that it gets warm, quickly. The jacket-and-long-top approach, so snug when stepping out of the back door, quickly becomes a self-contained sauna with no hope of escape until your destination is reached. 

3. Time is of the essence

I’ve always been someone who likes to be on time and, being a professional commuter, adept at saving time wherever possible to give a precious few minutes more in bed. However, this reached new, almost obsessive heights once I got into my cycling rhythm. It started sensibly, planning my clothing the night before and laying them out (in put-on order) on the spare bed ready for the morning. It started to get more worrying when I began trying the recycling boxes in different places, to get them out of the way of my bike and allow me the quickest route from the garage to the back gate. But then I realised I wasn’t alone, when I accidentally entered the ‘changing room wars’, a seamlessly ongoing battle with fellow respectable colleagues to get your kit on the best hook, close to the door, near the showers, and with a covered shoe-holder rack, but not in the area where the changing rooms narrow and, well, you essentially become part of someone’s drying-off routine. I like to think I’m winning at that, having finally got my stuff on to the prime corner hook, allowing me walled protection from others and being equidistant between the entrance and the wash area. 

Having re-read that paragraph, God help me.

4. Lance Armstrong isn’t all bad

Ok, I’ll admit that it does seem the remarkably successful Lance may have had some kind of help in his multi-million dollar career, and that in some people’s eyes, he’s not really someone to be seen as a role model. But when I was hopelessly failing to conquer the steep hill on the way to the station, who was there to help me but Lance! Or at least, his website, which for some reason unbeknownst to me has been cleared of all cycling-related content and replaced with a single picture of him running (as well as contact details if you want to book him for speaking engagements…). I watched a two minute video on his site which talked about the importance of a high cadence, lowering gear before hitting the hill, and avoiding gear-shifts when standing up, all of which worked beautifully and turned me from a guy being overtaken by a 75-year-old on a vintage Raleigh (that genuinely happened) to a guy who can now make it home without having to spend the next hour in close proximity to the bathroom and unable to eat…

5. Never, ever go to Halfords

I did. I wish I hadn’t…

A week in the life of a Halford’s Gift Voucher

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So there we have it, a year down the line and I’m certainly fitter, have grown to become weirdly fond of rain, and have no plans on giving it up. I also get quite a kick out of telling other people - the other day, a Sustrans rep approached our ‘huddle’ waiting for the train, surveying who cycled to work and trying to persuade people to try it. Despite that being a non-cycling day due to evening drinking commitments, I felt a huge sense of pride and righteousness when I loudly proclaimed that most days, I jump on my bike and battle against nature to reach my destination. If anything, I felt even prouder when I heard the gentlemen in front giving their reasons for not cycling- the word ‘lunatics’ was used at least twice…

And if nothing else I can say that in the last year, at least I’ve managed to persuade the girls next door that Arsenal isn’t all I care about:

John (@johnJsills) +John J Sills 

The get-to-work-on-time trial

Following the barren cycling years in his twenties, John Sills and his wife bought new bikes about a year ago, and have been impressed with how nice they look sitting unused in the garage. John works in London and lives in Buckinghamshire, and is best described as 'amateur', particularly at cycling. John recently started to contemplate cycling to work, and this is what happened. 

I've got a reputation for being tight with money. This is grossly unjust, and I'll bet anyone a fiver that I'm not. However, when the email dropped into my inbox announcing that it was time to hand back my company car and take some cash instead, it did get me thinking...

I pay nearly £1000 a year just to park my car at the station, and that's before I start to add on Insurance (I'm sure it was cheaper when I was 17), Petrol (I'm sure that was also cheaper when I was 17), and general servicing, as well as actually buying the car (this would be more expensive than when I was 17, as I just stole my Mum's).

So I was all set to get a Scooter - cheap to run, free to park, and I'd get a tan like one of models in the adverts, freewheeling along the A40 in three-quarter length trousers and espadrilles. But my mind got whirring on a 40km ride with my wife to watch the Olympics - it really wasn't that hard, and the fitness felt great. I work in London and live a bit too far out to ride the whole way, but I could certainly change the way I got to the train station.

After excessive deliberation, a plan was hatched to do a trial week on my bike. I asked for advice from everyone I knew who was a serious cyclist, and got plenty - including 'Get a good lock or a sh*t bike' - as well as taking tips from a few websites, most of whom seemed to be sponsored by Wet Wipes.

The Friday before, I trundled into work laden down with a suit, shoes, shirts, ties, hair wax, and the all-important deodorant. My colleagues looked on confused as I commandeered the coat rack as my personal wardrobe, debating as to whether I'd been kicked out of home or was planning to sell off my unwanted wares. The shirts were delivered to the dry-cleaners (£2.95 per shirt, ironed and hung), and over the weekend I planned my route. The idea was to aim for High Wycombe station rather then my usual Beaconsfield, as the route was shorter and flatter.

Oh, and I live up a massive hill.

Monday

I'm up on time, Banana devoured with gusto, and the ride goes well. Surprisingly well - I arrive at the station 15 minutes before the train is due to go (any regular commuter will tell you that 15 minutes is a lifetime in a world where we try to eek out every last second in bed). I feel very worthy getting on the train, loving the comfort of travelling in shorts and t-shirt, watching as it fills up with unfit and uncomfortable-in-their-suits businessmen. At work I manage to sneak into the Disabled toilet unnoticed, dousing myself in a double dose of deodorant. A minor crises strikes as I realise I've forgotten my cuff-links, but is averted easily as a new pair is acquired without fuss. I'm conscious I might smell, so decide to go on the attack, loudly proclaiming to my colleagues that I'm doing this test and it's their responsibility to tell me if I smell. I receive a muted response.

On the way home, I put my cycling gloves and glasses on a few minutes early, looking effortlessly cool to the rest of the packed train, who are in no way focussing on my old baggy shorts and ripped ageing trainers. I make it back home in good time, conquering the hill in front of a small group of kids who have presumably heard about my task and come out to watch (whilst also playing football). This is only the second time in history this feat has been achieved, with the first time rendering me unable to speak for nearly an hour.

Tuesday

A great morning - I change my route slightly to go on a back road (past a
Pub called The Sausage Tree), remember to take cuff links and socks, and the train journey is brilliantly relaxed. I'm wide awake and full of energy at work, with no visible signs of retching or recoiling from my work-mates. This is easy.

The ride back is not so great, carrying my laptop as I attempt to put the hill to the sword again in front of my adoring supporters. A fumbled gear change sends the chain flying off the cogs, which I manage to fix with all of the guile, speed, and professionalism of a man building IKEA furniture. I return home covered in oil, which it turns out is not particularly easy to wash off. After 39 minutes of scrubbing, my mind begins to wander and I realise that going from High Wycombe could cost me £400 more per year in train fares for 7 minutes more each way. A low point.

Wednesday

I worked from home today, had a couple of successful Video calls, and made a superb Steak and Pepper dinner. This is wholly irrelevant to the cycling test.

Thursday

I set off in the morning, flying down the hill and enjoying the feeling of the fresh air rushing through my visibly-thinning hair. It's at this point that I realise I've forgotten both my glasses and helmet, and the approaching A40 suddenly seems more daunting. To make things worse, the bike isn't behaving - skipping around as it pleases and constantly wanting me to ride in top gear. I test my brakes.

However. I make it safely and have a moment of epiphany as I finally realise why there are always lots of bikes locks attached to the bike stands. It's not, as I presumed, the work of cunning but conscientious thieves leaving their leftovers, but cyclists not bothering to carry their locks home with them, lightening the load.

On the way home, a quick Google search tells me that my Bike is 'Ghost-shifting', and can be fixed easily. I do as it says, turning some small thing on the gear shift left. It works, but I don't know why. Whilst powering up the hill, narrowly avoiding a plastic sucker accidentally fired at me from the spectators, I realise that I could win back the £400 by riding to Beaconsfield instead. It's a longer ride and up a big old hill, but I'd be cycling in the right direction and I'd have seven extra minutes to play with.

I fill up with pasta and fix my lights on my bike, then take a quick look online for advice on climbing hills. Lance Armstrong's website gives some good tips.

Friday

I set off for Beaconsfield, taking my time up the hill, and arrive at exactly the same time that I've been arriving at High Wycombe. I'm both confused and suspicious, as this means I've got up a hill and gone 1.5 miles further without losing any time. Although I'm much, much sweatier, this does mean I can get on the earlier train and get to work with more time to get changed. I also seem to get more space on the train, with the seat next to me remaining unusually empty. Probably because it's a Friday.

Aside from a small issue at work where someone else has cheekily got into the Disabled loo before me, I get home without issue, enjoying the long downhill stretches whilst curling into an aerodynamic position to enhance my professional look. The hill to my house is a struggle, but I make it and put my bike to bed for the weekend.

Buoyed by my success, I immediately get online and buy SealSkinz socks, DHB triple lens glasses, an unnecessary laptop case, and a hi-vis Hump backpack cover for a back-pack I don't yet own.


So in conclusion, it seems that if I'm happy to get up five minutes earlier and get home five minutes later, I can get fit, save the environment, have a more comfortable commute and save a fair amount of cash. I've felt wide awake and full of energy at work, and my suits should last longer too. I'll need some car-lift favours from my wife occasionally, when I need to be in early or home late, but in return she'll get a fitter and slightly sweatier husband. The big unknown is the weather - it was fine for the whole week, with barely any wind or rain, but I'll keep going until either my colleagues subtly move their desks away, or I have to be rescued by the Buckinghamshire Ambulance service, peeling me off the bike that I'm frozen to, covered in oil and muttering about improving my cadence.

After all, I can't let my fans down...