E
Elisa Francesca
Guest
Well, I'm back now from my bicycle-directed exploration of
London and Cambridge in the UK. My purpose on this trip was
to view some bikes that are unavailable in France where I
live and to try out some lessons offered by the
Cambridgeshire County Council to adult beginner cyclists.
I was hoping that actually taking lessons from an expert
would help me unblock some of the basic problems that
persist after I have been cycling for over a year. I still
have trouble starting my heavy Dutch bike, still cannot turn
my head to look behind me or take my hands off the bars to
signal. I cannot stand on pedals and still flub many but the
loosest turns.
I was in search of "magic mantras", little shifts in
consciousness that can suddenly make a previously
inaccessible movement clear. For example, learning to
balance involves looking out into the far horizon, while
coasting required the magic mantra of shifting weight from
the upper to the lower part of the body. Although I often
lack the nerve to apply it, I know the mantra for starting
is "renounce the left foot and think of yourself as standing
on your right foot". I was hoping an expert could give me
things to visualize, or sentences to say in my head, to
achieve the remaining goals.
Arriving at Cambridge Station by train was a delight when
the first thing I saw, on stepping out, was a vast churning
ocean of parked cycles stretching as far as the eye could
see. Every kind of cycle, every color and age and condition
- I have never seen so many at once. Spooky, because I have
stood countless times at that taxi rank since I first went
up in 1975, yet this is the first time I _saw_ them. Were
they not there before or is this a case of experience
changing perception?
The first thing I did on settling in was to visit a shop
called University Cycles, on Victoria Road. I have no
relation to Colin the owner and no vested interest in his
shop, but I was so kindly and generously received that I
willingly sing his praises here. The shop stocked many of
the models that I had been interested in during my search
for a definitive bike in November, for example, it was the
first time I could see a Giant Energy 7 in the flesh.
There was an exceptional range of products, unlike here in
Ile de France where I only ever see road and mountain
bikes for males. How I wished this could be my LBS! Colin
used to do rentals but had so many cycles stolen that he
gave it up. Nevertheless he actually _lent_ me a cycle for
my week of training. I was embarrassed because I was fully
prepared to pay for it, but when I went to the place, City
Cycle Hire, where I had rented a bike the previous August
I found it closed.
So I found myself with Storm, a 56 cm framed Dutch-style
bike with a 3-speed hub. She was a much better quality
vehicle than the rented one of last summer, with a handling
similar to Behemoth, my home bike. But her steering was much
more reliable and there was not the problem of the pedal
crank being too high in relation to the seat. I had hitherto
assumed that Behemoth, with her 50 cm frame, is too large
for me. Storm raised the question whether Behemoth may not
be too _small_, hence the problem of proportion. On the
other hand, I found the very swept-back handlebars on Storm
painful to use, with my hands bent way back like dolphin
flippers. And the seat! I know the deeply personal mystery
of bike seats is as subtle as the chemistry between lovers,
and there is no way of making one seat to suit all. But a
morning on Storm left me with open, running _blisters_ on
the softest parts of my anatomy, and the agony just
increased from there.
The name Storm was not merely suggested by the Sturmey
Archer hub. I was fully expecting to put up with some rain
in Cambridge, but not the sweeping walls of hail and wind
that greeted my first lesson. I rode down Sidgewick avenue
in weather that I would not dream of cycling in at home. I
must have been mad.
Overall, despite the charm and patience of my instructor, I
do not think the lessons were very productive. The first of
the four was spent just learning to stop and start, and it
took most of my first day to get up to the same level that I
had with Behemoth at home. Another lesson, spent on turns,
had the effect of undoing all the reflexes I had tenuously
started to build up for Paris traffic, since UK traffic is
all the other way. Not only this did not make me safe for
British roads, but it shook all my confidence for French
roads on return. For most of my Cambridge transport, Storm
changed into High Spec Shopping Trolley, as her main
function was to wheel around loads of groceries over
transits where I was too scared to ride. We only got round
to something I had specifically requested to study - the
standing scooter start - on the last day, and I was so sore
and tired that we had to finish early. I returned the bike
and slept for the rest of that afternoon.
I was not able to try any of the bikes I had come to try.
Although I did find a Dahon Speed TR in Cambridge, it was
raining so outrageously that I gave up on the project. In
London over the Easter weekend, I walked many blocks to a
shop called Bikefix to test a Giant Halfway Multispeed.
Although I was impressed with its lightness and elegance, as
soon as I got it out onto the sidewalk I found I was too
panicky to start it, so I have no idea if it rides as well
as I have been told. On Sunday I was supposed to trek out to
Dulwich to test a Giant Revive semi-recumbent. But in view
of my inability to start an unfamiliar bike the day before,
I did not think it worth such a hoick only to find that I
would not be able to start the Revive either, so this
project too was given up.
On returning to France, I found myself so disaccustomed to
Behemoth that once again, I couldn't start her. It took me a
week of courtyard practice just to recover the feeble level
I had before I left, and I find myself making excuses _not_
to cycle when I get up in the morning. The lovely spring
weather and flowering trees make me anguished, not rearing
for the road.
My conclusions from this trip:
There are no magic mantras, just practice, practice,
practice.
Behemoth has her defects, but I do not, fundamentally, need
another bike.
And: there is a vitally significant difference between an
interest and an obsession. I am obsessed with bicycles. They
devour me, drive me to far places to look at them, touch
them, price them, speculate on their qualities. I can think
of nothing else. Yet at the same time they bore me shitless,
and when I reach my destination I wonder what I am doing
there. I so wish the OCD would leave me a breather. I used
to read, cook, go to movies, exhibitions - but under this
hungry plague of cycles there is only a scorched wasteland.
I suspect the only way to control the OCD is with a degree
of mastery - Obsession is for things that flee. During my
decades of writer's block I compulsively collected pens and
stationary. Before I managed a job with a decent wage I was
gaga over money and clothes. If only I could actually
_ride_ a futzing bike, I might even recover a social and
cultural life.
So my voyage was not wasted. At least now, I know
these things.
EFR Ile de France
London and Cambridge in the UK. My purpose on this trip was
to view some bikes that are unavailable in France where I
live and to try out some lessons offered by the
Cambridgeshire County Council to adult beginner cyclists.
I was hoping that actually taking lessons from an expert
would help me unblock some of the basic problems that
persist after I have been cycling for over a year. I still
have trouble starting my heavy Dutch bike, still cannot turn
my head to look behind me or take my hands off the bars to
signal. I cannot stand on pedals and still flub many but the
loosest turns.
I was in search of "magic mantras", little shifts in
consciousness that can suddenly make a previously
inaccessible movement clear. For example, learning to
balance involves looking out into the far horizon, while
coasting required the magic mantra of shifting weight from
the upper to the lower part of the body. Although I often
lack the nerve to apply it, I know the mantra for starting
is "renounce the left foot and think of yourself as standing
on your right foot". I was hoping an expert could give me
things to visualize, or sentences to say in my head, to
achieve the remaining goals.
Arriving at Cambridge Station by train was a delight when
the first thing I saw, on stepping out, was a vast churning
ocean of parked cycles stretching as far as the eye could
see. Every kind of cycle, every color and age and condition
- I have never seen so many at once. Spooky, because I have
stood countless times at that taxi rank since I first went
up in 1975, yet this is the first time I _saw_ them. Were
they not there before or is this a case of experience
changing perception?
The first thing I did on settling in was to visit a shop
called University Cycles, on Victoria Road. I have no
relation to Colin the owner and no vested interest in his
shop, but I was so kindly and generously received that I
willingly sing his praises here. The shop stocked many of
the models that I had been interested in during my search
for a definitive bike in November, for example, it was the
first time I could see a Giant Energy 7 in the flesh.
There was an exceptional range of products, unlike here in
Ile de France where I only ever see road and mountain
bikes for males. How I wished this could be my LBS! Colin
used to do rentals but had so many cycles stolen that he
gave it up. Nevertheless he actually _lent_ me a cycle for
my week of training. I was embarrassed because I was fully
prepared to pay for it, but when I went to the place, City
Cycle Hire, where I had rented a bike the previous August
I found it closed.
So I found myself with Storm, a 56 cm framed Dutch-style
bike with a 3-speed hub. She was a much better quality
vehicle than the rented one of last summer, with a handling
similar to Behemoth, my home bike. But her steering was much
more reliable and there was not the problem of the pedal
crank being too high in relation to the seat. I had hitherto
assumed that Behemoth, with her 50 cm frame, is too large
for me. Storm raised the question whether Behemoth may not
be too _small_, hence the problem of proportion. On the
other hand, I found the very swept-back handlebars on Storm
painful to use, with my hands bent way back like dolphin
flippers. And the seat! I know the deeply personal mystery
of bike seats is as subtle as the chemistry between lovers,
and there is no way of making one seat to suit all. But a
morning on Storm left me with open, running _blisters_ on
the softest parts of my anatomy, and the agony just
increased from there.
The name Storm was not merely suggested by the Sturmey
Archer hub. I was fully expecting to put up with some rain
in Cambridge, but not the sweeping walls of hail and wind
that greeted my first lesson. I rode down Sidgewick avenue
in weather that I would not dream of cycling in at home. I
must have been mad.
Overall, despite the charm and patience of my instructor, I
do not think the lessons were very productive. The first of
the four was spent just learning to stop and start, and it
took most of my first day to get up to the same level that I
had with Behemoth at home. Another lesson, spent on turns,
had the effect of undoing all the reflexes I had tenuously
started to build up for Paris traffic, since UK traffic is
all the other way. Not only this did not make me safe for
British roads, but it shook all my confidence for French
roads on return. For most of my Cambridge transport, Storm
changed into High Spec Shopping Trolley, as her main
function was to wheel around loads of groceries over
transits where I was too scared to ride. We only got round
to something I had specifically requested to study - the
standing scooter start - on the last day, and I was so sore
and tired that we had to finish early. I returned the bike
and slept for the rest of that afternoon.
I was not able to try any of the bikes I had come to try.
Although I did find a Dahon Speed TR in Cambridge, it was
raining so outrageously that I gave up on the project. In
London over the Easter weekend, I walked many blocks to a
shop called Bikefix to test a Giant Halfway Multispeed.
Although I was impressed with its lightness and elegance, as
soon as I got it out onto the sidewalk I found I was too
panicky to start it, so I have no idea if it rides as well
as I have been told. On Sunday I was supposed to trek out to
Dulwich to test a Giant Revive semi-recumbent. But in view
of my inability to start an unfamiliar bike the day before,
I did not think it worth such a hoick only to find that I
would not be able to start the Revive either, so this
project too was given up.
On returning to France, I found myself so disaccustomed to
Behemoth that once again, I couldn't start her. It took me a
week of courtyard practice just to recover the feeble level
I had before I left, and I find myself making excuses _not_
to cycle when I get up in the morning. The lovely spring
weather and flowering trees make me anguished, not rearing
for the road.
My conclusions from this trip:
There are no magic mantras, just practice, practice,
practice.
Behemoth has her defects, but I do not, fundamentally, need
another bike.
And: there is a vitally significant difference between an
interest and an obsession. I am obsessed with bicycles. They
devour me, drive me to far places to look at them, touch
them, price them, speculate on their qualities. I can think
of nothing else. Yet at the same time they bore me shitless,
and when I reach my destination I wonder what I am doing
there. I so wish the OCD would leave me a breather. I used
to read, cook, go to movies, exhibitions - but under this
hungry plague of cycles there is only a scorched wasteland.
I suspect the only way to control the OCD is with a degree
of mastery - Obsession is for things that flee. During my
decades of writer's block I compulsively collected pens and
stationary. Before I managed a job with a decent wage I was
gaga over money and clothes. If only I could actually
_ride_ a futzing bike, I might even recover a social and
cultural life.
So my voyage was not wasted. At least now, I know
these things.
EFR Ile de France
