On Being Past It - By Graham Thompson

On Being Past It

by Graham Thompson

The piece by Roger Sewell (Clubmate Characters, Gazette, October, 2008) evoked memories as we have all met the characters described on the road, and now being somewhat decrepit I have been mulling over experiences where I have been overtaken. This is a problem encountered with advancing years and I can assure you that it can be met by anyone after a lifetime of cycling. So be warned that no one is safe from the overtaker. Even in the very early days of the North Road, the Gazette is full of members’ runs when they get a “bite”. It took me some time to realise that this was the term used to describe a hanger-on, and as far as I can make out he was given a working over before being seen off. Cyclists have been and still are a very competitive lot. 

In my distant youthful past I could usually see off the cyclist who latched onto my wheel, but where he persisted one could always ride to the edge of the rough bits on the road and not mention the pot holes and puddles coming up. Not very nice or sporting, but the final nail in the coffin for the unfortunate on your wheel was to continue up the drags and hills at the same speed as you were maintaining on the flat. Superior fitness won the day for me.   Another annoying type was the tuggo who came past and immediately turned off your route – no answer to this ruse!

We have all heard the apocryphal story about the character encountered on a training ride usually in the guise of the village bobby or the country parson who would announce his presence by the ticking sound of his hub gear. This machine was invariably the All Steel Raleigh finished in British racing green and gold box lining complete with hub gear, hub brakes, gear case, dynohub lighting with standby batteries, bell, tool kit in a leather case and built to last. You may well have been trying, but he would glide by with consummate ease. You have had the last laugh as Raleigh has disappeared, although the name lingers on, the village bobby does not exist, now motorised and surrounded by a pile of paperwork, and the country parson is also motorised and managing six parishes.

When I moved to Cambridge in 1966 a menace was the university type who played the game of overtaking and dropping back and repeating the manoeuvre. I can recall one undergraduate who played this game one winter’s evening when I was returning from a training ride down to Stumps Cross. After several exchanges along The Backs and Fen Causeway, I told him that he must be joking, I then passed him, increased my speed and committed myself to staying ahead. I did not see him again. Another character was a schoolboy, sixth form to judge by his size, who frequently passed me on the way to work from Oakington to Cambridge. He pedalled monster gears and I became convinced that he did not understand the workings of the gear lever. I came to dread coming across him as a battle royal usually ensued with one of us claiming victory – he would have made a good racing cyclist as he seemed to have limitless power.

You may have noticed that overtakers were always men, but since moving to Stevenage things have gone down hill. There are now mountain bikers and fit, young and healthy lady riders to contend with and it is an unequal contest. To be passed by a mountain bike was anathema to me some years ago and it would bring an immediate response from me to establish the superiority of a proper bike, and then I began to notice that the heavy breathing took some time to shake off, but I usually managed to stay in front. Now I cannot cope with the competition. Ladies can look away now as I was two years ago easily passed by a vision of loveliness on the road near Whitwell. I could only admire the vision as she sped off towards Harpenden. Then there was a lady mountain biker – laden rucksack, top gear, instep pedalling – who I tried to keep with, as, like the late Tim Dolphin not averse to giving advice to other riders, I thought she would benefit from some advice. She must have been doing something correct as she kept on getting away from me so perhaps I was doing things incorrectly.

I have not been passed by an electric bike nor a jogger nor a runner as there is no Kelly Holmes or Paula Radcliffe pounding the cycle ways of Stevenage, but I have now reached the nadir as two recent incidents have shown. Firstly it was the man going to work: he stopped, made his “roll up” remounted and then passed me puffing away and disappeared along the cycle way. Secondly I came out of a side turning from Whitney Wood, an enclave of desirable houses, and was promptly passed by an electric wheelchair handled by a young disabled youth at 10 mph. I was nearly home and I told myself that it was dangerous to pass him. Mind how you go as it is a competitive world out there.

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