Don't worry, I didn't get shelled on the way home!
I left the office, fresh of thigh and cosily wrapped in finest Pearl Izumi lycra, Nike roubaix fabric legwarmers and Endura thermal base layer. Super comfortable Dainese back protector giving me a friendly hug, whilst the magick of Gore guarded my feet against the drizzle, threatening to fall from the swollen grey clouds.
I set off in a Zen state, man and machine warming up together. Flowing with the traffic, enjoying space that has been lacking for more than one of our number in recent days. My dodgy knee felt a little sore, as he usually does at the start of a ride, but as my heart pumped blood through my body, faster and faster, the knee soon freed up.
Battersea Park, the smell of the grass and the river, the sandy shush-ing of my tyres over the smooth red tarmac. The flagrant staring at the sculpted behinds of dedicated joggers on their evening runs, brings a little guilty pleasure, and summons thoughts of the girl I love. Waiting at the lights on Chelsea Bridge I pine for her for a moment, but remind myself why we are not together at the moment, and I am filled with a sense of purpose - we are both working to secure our future together. She striving for the MTox that will secure her dream Phd, and I, working hard to secure us our first home.
I have reached Vauxhall now, and dance through the choked streets with a fluidity bourne of practice and the love of cycling that makes me handle my bike delicately and precisely.
The monotonous straight line to Peckham and beyond and the endless sets of traffic lights are broken by a pretty cyclist who returns my smile. I notice an eerie moment of tailwind matching my speed, I feel no wind on my face and an odd quiet abounds. In an instant it is gone, shattered by the loud thumping of the KTM that roars past me, rider crouched low, throttle wide open.
Climbing the hill up to Blackheath Common, my legs feel strong and light, and my breath is coming easily. Rushing deep into my lungs as I overhaul the queuing cars at a mere 10mph. Onto the common and the first bit of open space fills my senses with a widening of the vision, enhanced by the narrow walls of the climb up.
On I press, body singing magnificently, as a firing of bulging, blood engorged muscles forces each leg down again and again in a 110rpm blur of fluid cadence.
A fellow cyclist blows past me at a set of traffic lights, as I suck hard on my bottle, almost desperately, before the attempt on Shooters Hill. I have a target now, one that superceedes simply broaching the crest of the hill and I leave the stop line with a grunt, forced from my throat as I devote every fibre of my being to catching and passing this other lycra clad machine.
He is not my enemy, but I wish to damage his pride, a primal hunting instict sharpens my focus and a cool intensity grips me. He has hit the steepest section and is working hard, I shift up, rising out of the saddle into a full sprinting climb. Air rushes down my throat and through my nose, jaw hanging slack. Wide open. The hill is steep now, my arms and fingers ache from pulling on the bars to counterbalance my legs pulling and pushing at the pedals, symutaneously, in an unbreakable rhythm. I can feel hot, sticky drool escaping my limp mouth and lolling tounge, but I have almost reached him now. He hears my approach, the sucking of air into my lungs and the hoarse hush of it being expelled, but he cannot respond. I pass him and continue my assault, mind forcing now deadened limbs to continue the sprint as the camber becomes level.
BA-BOOM-BA-BOOM-BA-BOOM my heart beats so hard in my chest, as I contort myself into the smallest shape I can to scream down the other side, breaking 40mph.
I despatch the last handfull of minutes ride mechanically, easing off and warming down as I approach what is for the moment, home. To sit in the garden and listen to trains passing by, and have a cat nestle in my lap, its warmth appriciated by my thighs.
Anybody else enjoy their commute home?
