Trying to Tell me Something - by Terry Cleary

TRYING TO TELL ME SOMETHING!

by Terry Cleary

The former Editor’s homely piece in the December Gazette, “How Norfriders will know they are getting old” caused me to dwell and think on my lot, so I decided to put quill to keyboard and recount some of my own experiences which have led me to contrive the subject caption.
I suppose it all goes back to the early 80’s when my good friend, Gordon and I used to vie with each other for a higher placing in the bottom half of the field in Club and open time trials. There was little to choose between us then. But then, Gordon decided to get serious. The first I realised just how serious, was turning up for the next York Ride and finding winter of countless “base” miles. That season his results improved dramatically and as we all know, for several years following, collected his spoils in a wheelbarrow at the Annual Dinner. (Nowadays he just rides rapidly up mountains).
This put me into a state of melancholy, but 1985 saw me going quite well, reaching the high point of my racing career, missing a Club 12 hour standard (bronze, of course) by one mile. Disappointment, though a personal best. But trouble was, Gordon had easily cleared evens. I suppose I gave way to age and lassitude at that point.
However, all was not lost, for I started to experience the joyous sense of freedom of riding Audax and on the return trip from Reims in ’86, Roy Cook said, “I think I’ll ride Paris-Brest-Paris next year.” I thought that sounded like a good idea and sure enough, ’87 saw us, together with Maud and John Chaney on the start line. Without repeating the gory details, Roy was the only one of us to get round so I was determined to give it another go in ’91, when I succeeded.
But in the process, my pride was to take another knock. It was whilst riding a hilliyish 400 k qualifier in a group of young riders I had teamed up with, that the oldest (about 30) turned to me and said, “You know, you’re going very well for someone of your age”. Well, how would you have felt? And that was thirteen years ago. . . .
And nowadays, the ladies at the Tesco checkouts, bless ’em, always ask if I need any assistance. One actually barged over, sporting one of those “May I Help You?” sashes and repacked my trolley, telling me I couldn’t possibly carry the wine holder containing six bottles that I hadn’t managed to find room for.
Now my GP tells me I have arthritis, skin ageing and essential hypertension. I said, “What’s essential mean?” and he said that the medics haven’t a clue what’s causing it, but it tends to come with age. Fills you with glee, doesn’t it.
I’ve lost most of my hair and have two hearing aids (but I’m hanging on to my teeth). And last year I had to walk two hills in the Barbury Bash 100 k Audax, so perhaps they have been right all along. So I think I should be proud to be a PBP Ancien – in every sense of the word – and accept my lot.