Heavy Spillage on the Birthday Ride

Bear with me, for I’m still blogging about September, now we’re up to the 21st. One of my eldest son’s friends was so proud of his new bike that he wanted to have a ride with his chums to celebrate his birthday. His father being the avid cyclist that he is, was naturally delighted with that idea, and when he explained the idea to me I volunteered to help out with haste – even though I had not been asked. My eldest son, is by a long way the youngest child in his year – in fact his pal who’s birthday it was is almost a full year older than him. You may recall that he had only learned to ride a few weeks ago, and at that time was not yet tall, or confident enough to ride his BMX. Consequently I found myself helping load his bike onto the top of the minibus and suddenly realising his wheels were half the size of his peer-group’s.

We drove down narrow country lanes – heading out towards radstock to join up with the Collier’s Way. This is an old railway line that has been given over to a cycle and walking path. The minibus duly crushed as far into the hedge as we could get it, we unloaded kids and bikes and set about the perilous task of managing a group of overexcited 5-7 year olds as they prepared to race off into the distance. It was a truly lovely day weatherwise, unseasonably warm, blissful after the wet and windy summer the U.K. has endured.

It quickly became apparent that all three adults were needed as the group became strung out. Like the old drovers or a group of cowboys, we needed one at the back to round up the stragglers, one in the middle with the bulk of the group, and one off the front with the young steers who have broken away from the herd. Within minutes one lad was off his bike, a black BMX, and in tears by the side of the path. He was more shocked than injured and he quickly recovered. My son rode at the rear, his tiny wheels held him back and it was rapidly made clear to him that his helmet was cool, but his bike, most certainly was not, at least not in the eyes of his contemporaries. I remembered how delighted he was with the bike when he got it for his birthday two years ago, but now I could sense his frustration and dismay as the others waited for him to catch up. I felt bad that his confidence was being knocked so hard.

We rode on at a gentle pace, stopping briefly for juice and biscuits. One little chap slipped off the saddle and onto the crossbar – as he put it ‘squashing my woodpeckers!’ in the process. More tears, and a much slower pace. In the meantime, my son had realised that if he pedaled twice as hard as the others he could keep up with them, and soon he was making his way up the field.

3.5 miles in, we turned around and headed back for the mini-bus and the prospect of a roast chicken dinner. Now many members of the group started to tire, especially the little chap with the squashed woodpeckers. My son was pedaling so fast he looked like he was on fast-forward. We stopped again, this time for blackberries and the remainder of the jaffa cakes. The three adults gathered round the thermos and supped tea tinged with plastic. With everyone rested and stained with blackberry juice we set off again. Even though he was keeping up, some of the other boys continued to make mock of my son’s bike. This spurred him on into ever more bouts of furious crank-spinning, hunched over the bars he gave it a Merckx-esque effort, drawing from something deep inside inside of him. I was impressed by his stamina and his sheer determination. He barely noticed the derelict guard’s van on the rusted tracks as we passed it, he overtook leisure cyclists – tinging the tiny bell. I let him go a little way ahead with the others in his wake, wondering when he was going to tire and have to fall back, It didn’t happen. Our breakaway group of five (including myself) raced on ahead, taking turns on the front, knowing nothing of drafting, but each of them would force his way to the front then get a few cranks ahead before the others increased the pace and reeled him back in. The sprint, when it came was brief and difficult, being as how it was up the ramp to the road. My son was pleased with his second place, and as the lads stood astride their machines, panting, it was clear we had managed to ride a long way ahead of everyone else.

But then, disaster!

My son decided he would ride down the path and see if he could see them coming. Before I could react or turn my bike round he had launched himself down the ramp and cranked the bike up to a ridiculous speed down the steep hill. I could see the tiny wheels skittering around, see the speed wobble, and got my mouth open and the breath ready to shout “brakes!” when the bike just fell to the ground underneath him with appalling suddenness, catapulting him over the handlebars. He flew through the air and landed horizontally, skidding down the tarmac with the bike following him, until they both came to rest a good three meters ahead of the actual crash site.

There was a moments silence, and I was acutely aware that my heart had stopped beating. I threw my own bike down and ran down the path. His right hand came up feebly and a high keening wail came out of him. I chucked the bike off him and looked him over. A big scratch on the mouth guard of his full-face helmet, a scrape on his elbow, but he seemed ok. I stood him up, got him to wiggle his feet and his fingers as I held his skinny body. He wrapped his spidery arms round my neck and cried that his side hurt. Gently I lifted up his t-shirt to reveal a huge, angry, red patch of missing skin. As I lifted him he collapsed his whole body into me and held on as he cried his eyes out. The others arrived, and soon I was surrounded by concerned children. Luckily the birthday boy’s mum works for the NHS, so my son, happy with her qualifications, let her see the injury. The first aid kit didn’t have a big enough plaster, so he ended up with his shirt off, and a bandage wrapped round his middle holding on a pad. The others were all on the bus as he was bandaged up, and between sobs he said:

“It’s been the worst day, first everyone laughed at my bike and then I fell off and hurt myself!”

My heart felt heavy, and I felt so sad for him. I had spent a lot of my childhood feeling like I was less than my friends, knowing that my toys and clothes were secondhand, or second-rate compared to theirs. Feeling that everything went wrong for me, or that even the most wonderful experience had the potential to turn sour in a moment. This wasn’t what I wanted for him, it wasn’t how wanted him to feel.

I took a deep breath, and told him that he had proved himself as good as or better than the others because he had smaller wheels, he had had to pedal twice as hard. Imagine what he could do when he got on his BMX! And the reason he was hurting, was because he had rode so hard, and without fear, that the crash was enormous! No one else had dared to ride like that today! No one else would have tried to ride down the ramp that fast! No way!

He looked down, no longer crying, but his breath came in shudders.

“No” he said “It all went wrong, it’s the worst day”.

We got on the bus, immediately his friends were wide-eyed asking him questions, now that he could speak again.

“How fast do you reckon you were going?”

“How much did it hurt?”

“Can I see the injury!”

“Woah look at the bandage, awesome!”

“How did you get your bike to go so fast”

It suddenly dawned on him that he was the centre of attention, and he was getting some serious respect and concern from his friends. By the time we arrived back in the village, he was beaming from ear to ear and enjoying his new found status as the daredevil speedmeister of the group.

That roast dinner tasted pretty good.

A few days later he learned to ride the BMX, now at last he has a bike that looks like it’s the right size.

daredevil speedmeister

Daredevil speedmeister

Published in: on October 16, 2008 at 8:43 pm  Comments (3)  
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I am still here

Hi, I am still riding, it’s just that I have so much work to do that whenever I am sat with my computer on I find that I can’t do anything non-work related without a feeling of panic rising in my gullet. I have some rides to blog, and news of a really great event coming up in Bristol in October.

Thank you to everyone who sent good wishes and congratulations through to John on getting his dream job, I’ll pass them on next time we go for a ride.

Thanks to Jim Paul’s latest comment, I will be pedaling into blogging action again very shortly. The idea in setting up this blog was that if I didn’t post for ages it would be because I hadn’t been riding – the resulting shame was supposed to make me get out on the bike – so cheers Jim for giving me a prod. Jim asks if I’ve been teaching the young-un about riding. Well I’m pleased to report that he’s onto his bigger bike now (even though it’s still a tiny bit too big for him) after we went to one of his friend’s parties where we rode down Collier’s way, and my eldest had the smallest bike (and the biggest crash – but that’s another post) which meant he had to pedal twice as hard as everyone else.

Here he is on the BMX I bought 2nd hand – sticker customisation, by the rider himself.

More soon. Thanks for coming back.

Published in: on September 28, 2008 at 7:32 pm  Comments (3)  
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Shanaze Reade – The Gold or Nothing

It was a shame to watch Shanaze Reade crash out of the medals this morning on the debut of BMX as an Olympic sport. I’ve got a lot of time for BMX, it’s often derided as being kid’s stuff; the bikes are small, the music that accompanies the races and events, the emphasis on fashion etc. Yet if I’m heading for the train in Trowbridge I pass the skate/bmx park there and it’s just brilliant to see loads of kids there, really honing their skills. These kids invest so much time and effort into not only achieving speed and stunts, but pulling them off with panache. It’s one in the eye for anyone who says kids just play computer games and don’t get out. Sure it’s dangerous, it was pretty sobering to see a bloom of blood soaking through Shanaze’s kit as she spoke to camera after her crash, but that surely hones the senses and heightens the rush of achievement when it all goes right.

GB has done so well in this Olympics that no one could begrudge Shanaze going for the gold instead of playing it safe and taking silver.

Here’s what she said in the post race interview:

“Why settle for silver? I put absolutely everything into this, my heart and my soul, everything since the age of 10.
“You don’t train as hard as I do for silver. It’s about the gold or nothing.”

That’s a refreshing attitude for a Brit, it wouldn’t be a gamble if sometimes it didn’t work out. I want my country to be represented by this sort of athlete, not because I think this is the way we should win more golds, but because striving to be the best, giving everything you possibly can, is what I believe it’s all about. If Shanaze had sat back and cruised in second, which she could have done easily, she would have looked back at the race, seen that opportunity that she could have taken and she would have kicked herself, hard.

She’s 19, she dominates her sport at World level, I hope she comes back in 2012 and maybe next time she makes a gamble, the dice will roll her way.

You’re going to see that clip of her falling off over and over again, so here’s a clip of her powering round a BMX track in Wrexham instead.

*In Addition*

Well there’s a ton of carping going on at the BBC Sports blog, A whole lot of rubbish being talked about whether she should have taken the gamble or not. One poster even has the laughable nerve to claim Chausson showed pure class all the way through. Perhaps that particular viewer fell asleep at the point when Chausson made her spectacular face-plant in the time trial, that was diluted class, not pure class at all. Some people were complaining that the loss of a silver will affect the British standings on the leader board – not so unless there’s a tie. Silvers count for Jack unless there’s equal Gold, which is one of the reasons why she went for it.

She did the right thing by going for gold. And furthermore, I will put forward the motion that attempting that gamble was absolutely in the spirit of BMX. The outsider status of the sport is confirmed by the tripe being spewed out all over the BBC blog, it’s a rebel sport, it’s supposed to be dangerous and it is ALL about risking it all, even life and limb, in the pursuit of winning. In terms of dramatic narrative, this sets her up beautifully for a storming comeback win in 2012, expect slow-motion re-runs of the crash with dramatic music in the BBC coverage before the event.

Published in: on August 22, 2008 at 9:08 am  Comments (2)  
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On the trains again

On Wednesday, I cycled to Trowbridge, caught the train to Salisbury then rode to the office.

The Brompton on the platform

The journey there was pretty uneventful, except for the sheer pleasure of riding my bike. I didn’t even have to rush as I had plenty time to spare. On the return trip a chap at the station, a fellow Brompton rider, asked me about my Brompton bag, he’d been trying to track one down for a while.

At Warminster, a girl, probably in her mid-teens, got on the train with a bright red bmx. It was a nice bike, with a 360 gyro, and she backed it into the corridor and sat on the saddle for the whole journey. Earphones in, she lent forward over the handlebars and adjusted the front brake a little. On arrival at Trowbridge, I was impressed to see that she didn’t dismount at any point, she freewheeled the bmx off the train and pushed herself along the platform with her feet, in clear defiance of the no cycling on the platform rule. I thought she might be headed for the new bmx and skate park right next to the station, it was packed out with kids having a great time, pushing hard to create new stunts and tricks, grinding wheels and pegs off bars, attempting ludicrous jumps and flips, failing, sliding down quarterpipes on their knees before trying again and again. It was a joyous sight and one in the eye for the nay-sayers who claim kids don’t want to exercise or play outside anymore. The girl was in front of me as I headed past the hurtling bikes and boards, but she turned into town, accelerating over the bridge as I rode the other way and headed down the A361 for home.

Published in: on June 28, 2008 at 10:14 pm  Leave a Comment  
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