After spending a month trying to get to grips of how my Schlumpf 29er
would react on a narrow path somewhere in Croydon, taking it out for a
proper ride seems long overdue.
The car park at Boxhill & Westhumble train station is free... and full.
I am resorted to set up in a row of parked cars about twenty yards from
the end of the road leading onto the busy A24. The section I will be
riding on is nicknamed "The Mickleham bends of death", from boy-racer
compatible straight dual carriageway just outside of Dorking to a
speed-camera enforced bendy section by Leatherhead.
On each side of the road is a well separated walk/cycle path, I choose
the left side of the road where it lasts the longest. A fine and safe
method of test riding, with the drawback of the biggest audience of
passing cars.
After locking the car I pick up the uni in preparation to push it along
and as I do, briefly lift up my right foot and kick the golden button.
As I turn left the cycle path splits in two, the left side signed
"Cyclists dismount" and descending into a subway. I push the big black
guni into position, hold on with all my might on the metal fence while
levering myself up keeping the pedals in position. Then I push away,
but lean forwards too far and step forwards off the uni.
The second pushoff attempt is successful at precisely 11:30. Flapping
my arms round like poi and wobbling so slightly, I gradually pick up
speed and begin to stablise. Holding the seat handle I go straight, but
the wheel feels out of control as it seems to dart forwards and
backwards at first. Within thirty seconds things feel in control, but
the adrenalin is already starting to pump.
By now I've already well passed beside the other ramp accessing the
subway, the track is not exactly that super-smooth but is perfectly
bearable. I try and fight my instincts to slow down, slowing down works
and is needed for a tractor muni, but I'm not riding a muni. The cushy
Big Apple tyre means I clear the imperfections no problem, but more
effort for fighting those careful instincts is needed when a tiny
diversion into a muddy track is seen, evidence of 4x4s driving from the
mud across the path to the road spreading a thin even layer of mud all
over the path. Again, no problem.
The path and accompanying road very subtly bend to the left a little
and the grass separation is populated by a small line of trees, here is
where I accelerate and keep on. Surprisingly the traffic doesn't appear
to be taking any notice of me, the sight of cyclists being perfectly
normal on this entire stretch, or perhaps 70mph is a bit too quick for
wheel quantity differentiation. A subtle bend to the right and the tree
line stops. The slight weariness of the tarmac is now gone, turning
into something very super smooth, unlike the slight movement of the
gears causing the "loose crank" feeling. I glance at the tiniest
details of the tarmac rushing past below me and realise that, for the
very first time, it feels like I'm riding a bicycle.
About a mile down the road is a bend to the right, still very subtle
for me for not for the speeding traffic who will have their attention
diverted from me to the LED road signs lighting up, warning them of the
50mph speed restriction and speed cameras ahead. On this bend a very
thick tree covering separates the track from the road. I was looking
forward to this privacy, but since no reaction has come from the
traffic and I've not encountered anyone else on this path yet, I feel
okay. The speed now feels pretty fast, but more importantly constant as
by now the crank play doesn't feel bothersome to me.
The tree covering disappears and as I get the chance to glance the
traffic again a car horn sounds, seemingly to come from a red Fiesta.
Was he honking because of me, or the speed camera? He's gone in ten
seconds. My strong sense of counting seconds means that I take a rough
guess of doing one and a half pedal revs every seconds, that's 90rpm.
Not really surprising that since lift-off I haven't let go of the
saddle handle at all!
On the next subtle bend to the left I see a racing cyclist in the
distance crossing over the busy carriageway. I don't see him arrive on
the path since the tree cover on the left combined with the left bend
is blocking the sight. As I pass an access road going over a white
railing bridge I see him ahead of me, he's stopped and seems to be
checking something to do with his bicycle while seated on it. I ponder
on the fact that I could look utterly ridiculous to him, but then again
-he- is the one who is somehow squeezed into a blue skin-tight lycra
outfit. At least my ordinary looking polyester t-shirt and baggy MTB
shorts won't get everyone gawping if I ever stop and wander into a
shop.
There are some puddles ahead. Again, muni instincts are hanging on and
I have the tiniest thought of plotting a path around the puddles, even
though there's no need as there'll be nothing but smooth tarmac
underneath. The first puddle is on the right, and I stick to the left
of the path since I get the feeling I'm about to see that cyclist again
very shortly. The next puddle is on the left, I meander slightly to the
middle to avoid it, cursing myself that I didn't really need to do
that.
Again I return to the left and then a middle aged voice enters my right
ear; "That's hard work". I just say thanks to the man in blue as I
notice that he makes me feel ten foot tall, me having a much higher
saddle and keeping my back straight. He still leans over his handlebars
as he rides his thin silver machine off in front, to my speedy self he
isn't going that fast. I try my best not to feel too nauseus as several
seldom-talked-about build features are obvious below the shiny
revealing blue.
Speeding around the edge of the middle of a puddle wide enough to cover
the whole track, I soon forget about the bends as a very subtle incline
starts to bring a very slight feeling of burning into my muscles. I do
slow slightly, but still keep up at a very high speed and I don't in
the slightest way feel tired. After the gradient is the home straight,
in the far distance a roundabout with a Texaco garage perched on the
opposite corner, my turnaround point. I slow down slightly and get a
little frightened when my wheel rolls over a crinkly set of small
shingly stones. The uni shoots through without a hitch, but I still
fling my arms out of being slightly scared.
Eventally the roundabout is just fifty yards ahead, and I'm already
forcing the pedals at the backstroke to slow myself down in plenty of
time. After 2.5 UPD free miles, I stop and glance at my watch. It's
just before 11:45.
*end of part one*
--
gkmac
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