As I have mentioned before, we have a new neighbour, and it turns out he’s a keen cyclist. I was going to say ‘like me’, but compared to him I’m not a keen cyclist, I’m a Sunday potterer – in fact, I’m practically a motorist. Not only is he a keen cyclist, he’s the Duracell Bunny in human form, if the Duracell Bunny turned out to be an unfeasibly tall scouser. He works as a general landscape gardener and handyman which means he here there and everywhere around the county, and then he comes home from a hard day’s work shifting paving slabs and spends an hour on the rollers because the hills around us aren’t really steep enough and long enough for him to need to shift gears.
He’s always happy to chat bikes as I head off for the paper,* feeling like a bit of an amateur, and it was in the course of one of these conversations that I suggested – jokingly – that he should get himself a little trailer and then he could cycle all his tools to work by way of a work out. Today, he mentioned that he’d ordered one and hopefully it would arrive tomorrow. ‘It’s a shame it’s not here today,’ he said with a cheerful grin. ‘Because then I could have had a lovely 40 mile ride’. Apparently it’s rated to carry 60 kg. I’ve a feeling that if his work equipment doesn’t add up to the full load, then he’ll make up the difference with rocks…
So it’s nice to have a kindred spirit around, even if I don’t think we’ll be going out for any rides together, or at least not unless he goes on the Brompton with the laden trailer by way of a handicap.
*Take note, roadie person who blasted silently past me on a blind bend on Friday, that serious cyclists can acknowledge the existence of unserious ones without entirely losing face or being kicked off Strava or whatever it is you worry will happen if you don’t look through them as if they weren’t there. Just saying.