It's been a busy winter, and I've only ridden twice since Christmas.
Now the evenings are suddenly lighter, and it's a bit warmer...
So, which unicycle to take for the first evening ride of the season?
All day, I knew it would be the 28. That's a 700c x 32 road tyre
running at quite high pressure, 110 mm cranks: the most elegant ride in
my stable.
The uni fits easily in the massive boot (US = "trunk"😉 of the new car,
and soon I'm on my way. Should I start at my usual place? Can I
freemount the skittish 28 in front of a dozen jeering children after
such a long time? I chicken out and park at the next access point to
the field. It's much more private here...
Until I'm putting on my helmet and wristbands and I see Axeman!
Axeman is one of Nottingham's great characters, but I've never seen him
on this side of town. He's about 7 feet tall and well over 20 stone (US
= 280 Pounds), and I guess he has issues. His head is stuck in the
1970s, and he has long ginger hair, a headband, a straggly beard, jeans
that smell of urine, and a cut off denim covered with heavy metal
patches and badges. He's so overweight he walks with a stick. Although
I've never known him to be violent, he's an intimidating sight... but
when he speaks, it's with a childlike squeak, two octaves higher than
you'd expect.
And Axeman has seen me putting on a helmet, and he finds it highly
amusing. "Woooo woooo, bike helmet, wooo..." If he sees the unicycle,
I'm doomed! What if he asks for a ride? Discreetly, I put the unicycle
on the blind side of the car, and ferret about in the boot as if I'm
busy. Axeman loses interest, pauses to pee against the wall, then
wanders on his way - like a basking shark wallowing along, huge,
unstoppable but mostly harmless...
Once he's gone, I carry the uni down the steps and freemount first time
- rather wobblily, if that's a word, but first time. Is riding easy or
hard? I never feel like I'm about to fall off, but the concentration
factor is high!
Soon I'm on the river bank, cruising along more smoothly, enjoying the
fresh air and honest exercise after a tense day at work. A small skein
of geese flies past. The boats rock at their moorings at the marina
opposite. It's peaceful.
Then I pass the football stadium and approach the kayak club and the
rowing clubs. A woman carrying a kayak nearly impales me as she carries
it towards the river. The rowers, who are adjusting footrests and
rowlocks pause and exchange quips about my unusual number of wheels. An
old man walking a dog tries a new line: "What happens if you get a
puncture?" I laugh good naturedly. You won't read that often from
me...
I swoop under the arch of Trent Bridge, and pop out the other side to
see a rock climber practising his skills on the rough hewn sandstone of
the bridge. I don't tell him there's an easier way up round the back;
he doesn't tell me I've lost a wheel - it seems a fair arrangement.
Then I cruise along the top step of the embankment, now fully confident
of the uni again.
Soon, I make the tight turns and nip between the bollards onto the
access ramp to the suspension bridge. This is the first climb of the
ride. It's not steep, but it's tricky and I'm out of practice - and
don't forget, I'm only on 110s. I make it up the ramp, and onto the
slatted deck of the bridge. It's more uneven than I remember it, and
I'm disturbed to find it's blurring my vision. I'm 42, you know...
can't be long before I need specs.
The ride down the other side of the bridge is tricky, but I make it,
then drop down across the sloping apron of grass to the river bank.
Here there are swans, Canada geese, coots and various breeds of duck.
The only people on this path are joggers, and they're generally
friendly. A child on the parallel path shouts, "How do you ride that?"
I reply, "Carefully."
Riding back up the wet grass is a bit of a challenge, but soon I'm ready
to cross the pedestrianised toll bridge, then it's up onto the top of
the flood bank to ride along the muddy rutted crest. As I drop down the
short but steep path and through the narrow gate at the ned, a youth
shouts out to his girlfriend, "Look, he's not going to ride down
there... look, no way... no way!"
Then I pass a group of teenagers. A girl shouts out to one of her
friends, "Have you seen that paedophile?" Then she makes eye contact
with me, grins and says, "Oh, I don't mean you." How do you reply to
that? I just smile and say, "Thank you!"
On the next stretch of tarmac path I overtake a surprised jogger, then I
squeeze through the narrow path where a sign says, "Cyclists give way to
pedestrians".
What a lousy sign! Punctuated like that, it is a statement that is
seldom true.
It should be, "Cyclists, give way to pedestrians, " or, better still,
"Cyclists, please give way to pedestrians," or "must" or "should". Call
me a pedant, by all means, but one day a pedestrian will be mown down by
a cyclist and sue the council for wrongly advising him that cyclists
give way to pedestrians on that section of path.
Maybe.
Back over the suspension bridge, then along the embankment, under Trent
Bridge, and up the ramp so I can cross the bridge on the pavement next
to three lanes of late rush hour traffic. From here, it's a cautious
descent of a narrow and uneven pavement to the riverbank again, and an
easy ride back to the car.
How far? How fast? The battery on the computer's dead, and who cares
anyway? It was about 5 miles (8 km), maybe a bit more, with only one
mount, and no UPDs. And it was just nice to be riding again.
So answer me this: why spend so long learning to freemount, if you only
do it once per ride?
--
Mikefule - Roland Hope School of Unicycling
Everyone should be fatuous for 15 minutes.
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