THERE'S a New Year's resolution that is weighing heavily on my conscience at the moment. Yes, yes, I know it's May and the nights are fair drawing out, but I can explain my tardiness.
You see, the Suitor presented me with a shiny new bike for Christmas (it's okay, he gave me something lovely and frivolous too, so he's avoided expulsion to the canine residence). I had figured that taking it into work would not only get me there qui
cker than my current mode of transport (Shanks's pony), it would also get me fit. Great plan.
Except, first I needed a nice, shiny new pannier in which to carry my work things; one in which I could stash a pair of heels, a change of clothing and, most important, a bumper pack of deodorising wipes. And, preferably, one that might also double as a handbag once I arrived at Spectrum Towers. A tall order perhaps, but remarkably I managed to track one down on a great site called Cyclechic.com. It arrived approximately two months ago, and is now gathering dust in a corner of my bedroom.
Next I had to work out an appropriate route that would, as far as humanly possible, remove the need to tackle any cobbles or steep hills (there's only so much one meagre packet of deo-wipes can do in the war against sweat). I also have an aversion to anything remotely resembling a road. That's because I have a very real fear of cycling through traffic – possibly as a result of my own rather aggressive driving technique – and so on the rare occasions I have found myself being closely tailed by an impatient driver, I start wobbling uncontrollably and veering into the parked cars at the side of the road. And having recently witnessed two rather nasty accidents involving bikes, my fears are entirely justified.
Which explains the high hopes I had for the reopening of an old railway tunnel that would further extend Edinburgh's already extensive cycle-path network. Sadly, though, on closer investigation, I have found it takes me no further than a children's play park. Which would be fun if all I wanted was to have a go on the flying fox and a quick birl on the roundabout. But since I have rather more pressing affairs awaiting me at the beating heart of the world's media, not very useful.
Then there was the issue of light. Or rather the lack of it. Because while I may be willing to risk helmet-hair for the sake of staying alive, until Marc Jacobs includes virulent yellow in his autumn/winter collection, I draw the line at a hi-viz jacket. I had therefore felt the need to postpone my expedition into Chris Hoy territory until the clocks had gone forward. This way there would be a chance that it might still be daylight when I left the office in the evening.
It may not have escaped your attention that we are now well into British Summer Time, but I have still to put tyre to Tarmac. And slightly more pressing now is the planned cycling holiday to Mallorca. It's quite hilly there, right? I have already had nightmares that feature me cradling my head in my hands and sobbing silently at the bottom of a mountain while the Suitor pedals off into the distance with an effortless swish of his peachy, Lycra-clad bottom. The cad. So I really need to get some practice in – and sharpish.
There's just one more thing that stands in my way: the delicate issue of becoming saddle-sore. I truly believe the purchase of appropriately padded undercrackers could prevent any unnecessary bruising in the nethers.
Maybe a pair of good cycling shoes will also aid my efforts. And a nice new top. So there will be another temporary delay until I can track down the appropriate clothing. Because, let's face it, I'll never get anywhere fast if I'm in the wrong gear.
