Riding back from Bigtown yesterday after yoga (it’s like riding with freshly oiled legs; I recommend it) I saw a rider turn into the road ahead of me. He didn’t appear to be going that fast initially, but I had more trouble than I expected reeling him in on the uphills and when I did finally draw level and said hello, he told me he was riding an electric bike, so naturally I had to settle in alongside him and find out more, along with a fair chunk of his life story (mid-life tragedy, late found happiness and home decorating, among other things…).
I have to admit – much though my inner Londoner might cringe – that happening across some cycling stranger and spending a few miles setting the world to rights with them one way or another is one of my favourite things about cycling around here. Our roads are quiet enough that you don’t have to be constantly pulling over to let drivers past, and the culture is friendly enough that merely taking the time to pause, say hello and compliment your fellow cyclist on their bike (what do you mean you don’t do that?) and enquire if they are going far is often enough to start a conversation, should they be up for one (I hasten to point out that if I merely get a grunt in reply, or a pointed reference to the fact that they ‘must be holding me up’ then I take the hint and pedal on – you can take the girl out of London, but you can’t completely take London out of the girl). Obviously this only applies to cyclists who are slower than me or who overhaul me and are then happy to fall in with my pace, so it limits my options somewhat unless they’re carrying a tree, but I’ve still passed many a happy ride that way although I’m always a little startled at how much people are prepared to divulge of their lives to a passing stranger (it’s a boon to the practising novelist though). And there is something about holding a conversation as you pedal that makes the miles melt away much more easily than when you’re on your own, and it’s got nothing at all to do with wind resistance.