And...I'm back in the saddle!

Have you missed me? I managed more than two weeks without my derriere touching a bike saddle which, given the time scale we're working to here, was less than optimal. Let's get the excuses out of the way first - I managed to get a stomach bug two weeks ago, which knocked me out for most of that week, and I got better just in time for the deal I've been working on for the last six months to finally decide it was going to sign; cue numerous late nights, preventing any early morning cycling sessions. So, I've plenty of lost time to make up for and I've been doing my best to use the long weekend to do just that.

Yesterday, we took the bikes down to Finsbury Park so that I could have a go at circumnavigating the other way round (if you remember, James wouldn't let me go the other way round because of having to go down a very steep hill). It turned out that starting by going down the very steep hill was not the best idea. I confess I cried. And swore. A lot. It was terrifying, I nearly hit the pesky bollards, and I got sent entirely the wrong way by a land rover that was on the wrong side of the bollards (i.e. the traffic free side). I had only just got going again when I felt an ominous clunk and realised my saddle had developed an unnerving wobble. Another stop ensued for James to tighten it up (yeah, I know, I've got to learn to do it myself, but I was already in a foul, delicate mood after the land rover incident). The rest of the lap passed without incident, until I discovered the real reason why we normally go round the other way - The Long Hill. Going down The Long Hill is a breeze; it's not too steep, so it's not terrifying and it's not too shallow, so you can free wheel down it. Going up it is a different story. It's probably about a third of a mile long. I started in too high a gear and couldn't do much about it once I was halfway up. Needless to say, by the time I got to the top, I was getting a bit wobble-weavey, I couldn't talk and my legs no longer felt like they were attached to my body. A few laps of the basketball court later, I was ready for home.

Today was a different story. Today, I nailed it. I can cycle. I can. See, I told you it would be OK. The plan today was to leave the safe, comfortable confines of Finsbury Park and go somewhere else. However, before setting off, we had a little errand to run - I needed a hi-viz waterproof, so that the ducks could see me coming in the glorious weather we're having at the moment. So, I am now the proud owner of a very orange waterproof. It is not a good look. We trekked to the park as usual, but rather than continuing on round a lap, we turned right to go onto the bridge over the railway. I hit the bridge. I'm glad that (a) I didn't go through the bridge onto the railway below (not very likely) and (b) I didn't fall off the bike (very likely). The man who was walking past in the other direction, more or less causing this incident by his very presence, smirked smugly at me. I wheeled the bike over the bridge and started riding again. Then we began the main event - Parkland Walk.

Parkland Walk is a nature trail along a disused railway. This means it is relatively straight and relatively flat, both significant plus-points for the novice cyclist. However, as its name suggests, the route is primarily for walking on, which means there are a lot of two- and four-legged pedestrians who are, quite frankly, in my way. To be fair, most of them are courteous, get out of the way and appear to have no desire to be run over by a fluorescent orange cyclist. Some of them, on the other hand, take their "pedestrian priority" far too seriously, and there is a third category - the terminally oblivious (more on them later). The other complication with Parkland Walk is that it is "off-road", so the surface is bone-jarringly rough - it isn't off-road in the sense of having to avoid tree-roots and worry about sinking in puddles, but it is a whole different ball-game for someone who is used to the comparatively silky-smooth riding in the park. On the outward journey, I had a few wobbles, and a few weaves, but nothing too serious happened until we got close to one of the old stations along the route. Four sets of people were trying to get through the same narrow opening at once - a couple of people were standing in the way (they looked like they'd bumped into each other while going in opposite directions), a lady walking her dog was coming past them towards us, two joggers were catching the lady with the dog fast, and then there were the two of us trying to cycle through. I managed to navigate past all but the stationary folk, but this forced me to the very edge of the path, where there was a mud slick - my back wheel slid out and I landed on my feet. The people standing talking were very concerned about me, but I was absolutely fine. I still hadn't, technically, fallen off.

The next part of the route, through the old station, was awesome. The old station platforms are still in place, so what could I do other than tear down the middle of them screaming "choo-choo" at the top of my lungs? It wasn't all that long before we got to the end of the route, in Highgate. Highgate - that's a whole different district, a whole different postcode, from where we started out. After a quick stop for a photo by the board showing how far we'd come, we turned round and went back the other way. That was when the problems started. I was coming up behind a woman walking a dog. I pinged my bell at her three times (my new skill of the day) and slowed down to the lowest speed I can maintain without keeling over sideways. She initially did nothing, continued down the middle of the path. Then she stopped and put her hands out to the sides as if she were expecting to be mown down. That's right, she stopped in the middle of the path. I had no choice but to stop and she turned around and said "oh my God, you frightened the life out of me". Now, I know the orange hi-viz is a bit alarming, but I would have thought that most people would have the sense, if pinged at three times by a cyclist, to move to one side. It doesn't matter which side, but just move! In any case, no-one died, she apologised and I went along my merry way.

 A few human chicanes later, we were back in the park. We were nearly at the park gate (toward home) when James decided he wanted to do another lap of the park - I was knackered by this point, so I said I'd go to the cafe and wait for him. It took me a couple of seconds before it dawned on me, but then I had a fantastic idea - I could cycle to the cafe, which was about 150m away along the only bit of the park that has cars on it. On my own. There were moving cars going in both directions, another first for me. And so it was that I cycled on my own on the road for the first time. I think I deserved my cup of tea.