It’s that time of year again where cycling itself remains the efficient joy that it is during the other three seasons, but is bookended by a need for fannying about as one gets one’s clothing up to adequate. Clothing, lights and tyres,really. It’s not long since the clocks went back and already I’m dreaming of the day next year I can just get on the bike and go.
As it stands, I’ve a small but nonetheless irritating To-Do list each time I plan on being on the bike and not being miserably cold around my wee ears and fingers, dangerously invisible and unlit or transforming my toes into a butanoic Slush Puppy.
I’ve got my studded tyres on, so the frost this weekend isn’t so much of an issue, and I’m not yet bored of the way the bike sounds like I’m riding over a surface of Rice Krispies, but I am very much bored of the omnibus-scarred terrain that is the actual surface. Potholes already appear with alarming speed, but the freeze-thaw effect conspires with HGV wheels to make every puddle a lurking menace, as Chloe Torrance found out the hard way this week. I was on the North Edinburgh Path Network last weekend, and was struck by how flawless the surface is. I was pulling a trailer(with a Dahon folded up on it for part of the route) so slower than my preferred pace, but I would be a very silly person if I said it wasn’t relaxing.