Serial

MEMOIRS OF A NEW NORMAL CYCLIST

Episode One

It was a beautiful day and Rick was admiring his new bike.  Shiny, ultra-light, more gears than he had fingers and toes, and a saddle that promised to do him serious damage if he adopted the wrong posture.  Still, the nice man in the cycle shop had talked him through all the essentials and told him how to get the best out of its many exciting features – or at least that’s what Rick thought he was being told, since he couldn’t actually hear what the guy was saying through his mask.

And now it was his first day back at work after furlough, and the new flexible hours regime adopted by his bosses meant he could avoid rush-hour and have a more relaxed journey into town.  He hadn’t ridden a bike since he was six but, hey, once you can ride a bike you never forget do you!  And as the guy in the shop said – ‘in the end its as easy as falling off a bike!’  At least that’s what he thought the guy said through his mask, and he hoped it was a sign of a good sense of humour.

He put the feeling of butterflies in his stomach down to ‘first proper ride’ anxiety.  He’d wheeled the bike down to the park the previous evening to have a practice run on a quiet path, and he’d done pretty well.  He’d avoided all the children and the dogs, and was particularly pleased with the way he’d very quickly managed to bend his handlebars back after hitting the tree.  So now it was the real thing.  He was looking forward to trying out the new, much safer, temporary cycle lane along the A56, and was more than a little confused when he got to the main road and found that it was no longer there.  Ah well, just keep close to the kerb, he thought, and everything would be fine.  He had his hi-vis jacket, hi-vis wristlets, hi-vis anklets, garish helmet with flashing front and back lights and video-cam, and reflector flags projecting from the back. What could possibly go wrong.  He’d bought everything the guy in the shop had recommended – at least he thought he had, but he might have misheard because of the mask.  Anyway, nothing ventured, he thought, and off he went!

‘People are so kind!’  he thought as he cycled away from the bus stop.  It was lucky that the drain had been so close to the bus queue, since it had taken four of them to pull his front wheel from the grid.  Didn’t seem to have been too much damage, and he could easily Sellotape the video-cam back.  It would be interesting when he got back home to see what the fall had looked like. 

‘That was good advice!’  he thought, thirty minutes later, as he put the tyre levers, pump and puncture repair kit back into his rear pannier.  ‘I’m glad he made me buy the de-luxe versions’.  He remembered to take a picture of the pot-hole before he set off again, so that he could report exactly where it was.  He wasn’t convinced that the front wheel was quite as straight as it was when he set off, but as it was all so new he guessed it would be fine as it was still going round and more or less in the right direction.

It turned into an interesting journey.  When he set off, Rick had intended to use the new flexible working hours to get to work just after rush hour and then leave early evening – allowing himself enough time to have a socially distanced drink at the Royal Oak with his mates while the football was on.  He certainly arrived at work after rush hour, but by the time he had completed the necessary hours, he didn’t get home till well after midnight.  Still, he was home safe and sound with a day’s riding experience behind him.  There’d be other nights for the Royal Oak, and he didn’t like football that much anyway.  Instead, he made himself a decaff coffee and settled down to watch his video-cam footage.

Episode Two

Rick’s second day back at work proved to be more successful than the first.  He had learnt a lot from the video-cam footage of his first ‘tumble’ and managed to avoid the drain cover – albeit suffering a number of loud and threatening insults from car drivers forced to slow down when he moved out from the kerb.   But he could handle that – he’d worked for a while as a hospital receptionist so was used to aggressive behaviour.  He’d told himself not to be condemnatory to people who may well be under great stress and therefore not in complete control of their tempers.  Obviously those driving to work or wherever must be under the same kind of stress, and he comforted himself with the thought that it wasn’t personal.  At least he did until the driver of one car pulled round him and stopped sharply before getting out hurriedly, hurling very personal abuse.  Rick was amazed at how much the man seemed to know about his early history – or maybe it was just a lucky guess.

Rick had avoided that incident by deviating onto the pavement and escaping down a side road.  It was a pleasant detour, and he discovered a new café-bar that had opened since lockdown.  It seemed interesting and it offered the ‘eat out to help out’ scheme.  He made a mental note to try it out one evening when he got home early enough.

In truth, he was now somewhat in two minds about coming back into work.  Yes, he enjoyed the personal contact, or as it now was, non-contact, with some of his workmates, but many others had decided that life was too short to be travelling for hours into and out of the city every day, when they could work just as well at home and have more time with family and local friends.  Rick was torn between casual banter at lunchtime and break times at work, and more quality time with his closer friends in the local community.  Still, at least he was now using the bike and that saved him travel time and money – or would do once he’d got used to the lack of cycle lanes out in the suburbs.  He’d got a quote for replacing the wheel that had slightly buckled in the pothole the day before, and hoped that he could claim compensation from the Council before it went formally bankrupt.

His friends at work were greatly amused by his tales of getting into work in the mornings.  Most of them had travelled in on the tram before the pandemic, but had now reverted to cars for ‘safety’ reasons.  Only three of them had so far had minor bumps through being unused to navigating busy and unnecessarily speedy main roads, while another two had had altercations with fellow motorists over parking spaces, one of whom was due out of hospital the next day.  There was certainly never a shortage of things to talk about, though most of them were instantly forgettable and provided little intellectual food for furthering the knowledge and wisdom of the human race.

Rick decided that he ought to keep a diary of his exploits and those of his colleagues – both from work and from nearer home – to see if he could detect any patterns in behaviour that might be enlightening.  So that lunchtime he bought himself a new notebook and pen from the nearby local shop.  He got roasted by his supervisor for getting back late, but hey ho, he could handle that – and after all, it wasn’t his fault the shop could only let two customers in at a time, and the one before him had had a panic attack because his mask was suffocating him.  He was very impressed by the coolness of the paramedics.  Armed with his diary and an incident to report on his first day of having it, he promised himself that he would write a least a page a day, and maybe after this was all over he could tidy it up and get it published.  Everyone needs a dream.

That night, he got home just before midnight and rolled straight into bed with his diary.  It was still there unopened when he woke in the morning.

Episode Three

Rick was feeling pleased with himself.  Since the lockdown he’d done his best not to go to seed.  He’d been careful with his diet and done Joe Wicks exercises every day until he’d put his back out tripping over the coffee table while engaging on a particularly expansive stretching and bending routine.  But now he was back fit and well, and the bike was a godsend.  What’s more, he’d weighed himself that morning and found he’d lost a couple of kilos – almost a belt notch. After the first couple of days of cycling to work, which he’d labelled as his practice sessions, he was now much quicker and had a pretty safe route figured out.  There was a little community of cyclists in the building and tips and up-to-date info were shared.  He particularly enjoyed the section of Talbot Road where the cycle lane was clearly delimited and felt especially safe, apart from the odd lycra-clad speed merchant in Giro d’Italia tops – or similar – who were noticeably unhappy at his mediocre pace and made their displeasure clear whilst flying past him inside or outside of the barriers.

One of his new mates, Adam, had told him of grand plans by the Council to turn part of Talbot Road into a “Wellbeing” route for cyclists and joggers and strolling pedestrians from the new dwelling units in the Civic Quarter.  It sounded wonderful, though Rick had a few concerns.  He couldn’t really visualise police cars on their way to an incident, with sirens already wailing, stopping at the entrance to the police station and waving hundreds of folk on bikes or foot across in front of them, smiling benignly.  Ok, it would be great to push all the car-based commuters onto Chester Road and leave Talbot Road to the ‘alternative’ travellers and the new locals, but he had bad vibes about the proposed armed checkpoints and barbed wire boundaries that would keep residents of Gorse Hill away from the upgraded Civic Quarter for fear they might put off the property investors.

Anyway, that was a problem for the future, and there wasn’t much he could do about it.  Today was for relaxation.  He was planning to cycle into Chorlton and meet people in the vibrant social scene there.  With the easing of lockdown, the cafes and bars with their outside seating were an attractive prospect, and Adam had invited him to meet him and some of his friends there.  The wide pavements and narrow roads were always busy, but there was a buzz and connectedness that made it seem like a coherent place.

On the way he stopped at Stretford Mall to pick up some essential supplies.  It was hot and he decided to sit down on the public realm seating for a swig of water before transferring his shopping to his cycle paniers.  He gazed around at the Chester Road/Kingsway junction and thought to himself that one day he’d pluck up the courage to cross the roads on foot to look at the Public Hall and the Essoldo – but not today.  As he gazed he noticed a young man leaving Foodhall.  He walked over to the next bench seat along from Rick, at which point he sat down and put on his face mask.  Rick was intrigued and, after a few moments, gave in to his curiosity and asked why he had waited until he was out in the open to put on his mask. 

‘This is the only public realm seating area I know that faces onto a six-lane racetrack with four extra lanes of traffic turning onto a five-lane road.  I like sitting in the sun, but could do without the smell and noise.  Pollution here is awful – I doubt that the virus can survive in these conditions, but I don’t want to die from polluted air.  If they want this shopping precinct to survive, they’re going to have to keep the cycle lanes and give the new bars some outside space – like in Chorlton.’

Rick smiled, and so did the young man – or at least Rick thought he might have done behind his mask.  Having filled his paniers, Rick got back onto his bike and pedalled off to Chorlton.

Episode Four

It was the last day of the ‘eat out to help out’ scheme, and Rick was in the mood to help out – as he had been for the past three weeks.  He had a routine.  Late breakfast in Stretford, lunch in Manchester and dinner in Chorlton.  He found he could read the paper over breakfast and then socialise over lunch and dinner.  In truth the rest of the week was pretty similar but he just got used to eating cheaper food.

Over breakfast he’d been talking to a guy on the next table who had a severely bruised nose and black eye.  Rick had expressed sympathy and asked what had happened.  Turned out the guy had left the café the day before, put on his mask to enter the shop next door and walked into a lamppost when his glasses steamed up.  Rick smiled and looked around.  He was only mildly bemused when he noticed several other people with similar facial injuries.  He resolved not to put on his sunglasses when he left.

As it was the last day of the scheme, Rick and most of his mates decided to push the boat out with lunch, so he had the full three courses and didn’t bother looking at the prices.  He was pleasantly surprised at the relative cheapness of it all, and dreamed pleasant dreams of banquets in the afternoon as he slept off the effects of the meal at his desk.  He woke in time for his afternoon break and checked his smartphone for any upcoming appointments.  It told him ‘Level Crossing Duty’ at 5pm, and he racked his brain to remember what it meant.  At last it came to him.  His flatmate and fellow cyclist, Nigel, had persuaded him to join a group who were trying to encourage motorists to turn their engines off when waiting at the nearby level crossing for trams and trains to pass.  He’d have to hurry to get there in time and bend the flexi-hours rules just a smidgeon on this one occasion.

He made it.  Nigel and some other cyclists were armed with leaflets and ready to wander down the rows of cars on each side of the crossing.  Nigel explained the rules.  Keep gloves on; keep mask on; knock gently on the window having first attracted attention; stand back somewhat; briefly explain the pollution issue; and then politely ask that the driver turn off the engine.  Easy.

Rick stayed for an hour until they all decided it was time to leave.  At debrief beside the road, Rick expressed amazement at how many different verb forms could be used in association with the word ‘Off’, and how many people seemed to be obsessed with his lineage.  Anyway, everyone seemed satisfied with the response, and one driver appeared to have actually turned his engine off, though this apparently was only because he was deaf and he turned it on again when Rick stopped talking.

The little group agreed to form a bubble for the evening and moved on to a local restaurant for the final half-price dinner.  Rick deliberately chose the most expensive dishes for each course and had all the trimmings.  He’d never before had fish with potatoes, rice and pasta, with a side of garlic bread and orange sauce.  But hey, it was a special occasion.  And the crème caramel with ice cream, cream and custard finished it off sweetly.

He cycled home replete and collapsed in front of the television, waking up an hour later, at which point he felt like bed.  It had been a long hard day.  He cleaned his teeth and weighed himself.  He’d put on half a stone since yesterday.  In bed he left himself a message on his smartphone for the next day.  It read simply: ‘buy lettuce’.

To be contined……