Bikes are Like Horses. No, Really.

Bikes are like horses in a few ways.  They can be a form of transport, you can ride them, there are similar rules of the road relating to them and, as discussed previously it is possible to form an emotional attachment to a bike, as with a horse.  It is also the case that if one falls off a bicycle, one should (state of bicycle and rider permitting) get straight back on in order to prevent a fear of getting back on later from developing, just like the old saying about getting back on your horse.

I imagine you've guessed what's happened now.  They say there's a first time for everything, and I knew it would happen eventually - I fell off my bike.  What a fantastic way to round off my first year of cycling; now I've actually done just about everything!

Last night I knew I had to get my bike home (after its mini-break in my office), and I was, yet again, quite late leaving work.  It had been raining all day, although it had just about stopped by this time, so the road was wet.  In order to ride home, I was going to have to do two things - ride all the way in the "proper" dark (rather than as it was getting dark) and ride on wet roads.  I did think twice about it, but figured I felt ready to tackle it and so set off on my merry way.  I hadn't gone more than about 200 metres before I had to stop to adjust my panniers as they were fouling the pedal on one side.  As I set off again, it struck me that riding home at about 9.30 p.m. on a Friday night gives rise to some additional obstacles.  I cycle through part of Shoreditch to get out of town and it's full of "hip" (read pretentiously cool) bars and pubs and the hipsters that go with them.  A lot of people go from one hotspot to the other, apparently via a stroll down the middle of the road.  It seems that a few beers makes them completely deaf to bells and completely blind to fluorescent orange.  Someone should do a study on this.  The other thing that hit me was the smell.  Sort of "herbal", if you get my drift.  I could smell it nearly all the way home and, needless to say, it wasn't me!

Once I'd passed the computer game-like pedestrian-avoidance of Shoreditch, I had to figure out how to get from one side of Shoreditch Park to the other without going through it (it isn't very well lit at night, in spite of being quite open and not having too many trees).  I knew where there ought to be a left turn just past the park to achieve this, but I was surprised that the road started to bend to the right before I got there.  My instincts were right, though, and I found the turning.  I stopped at a zebra crossing for a chap to cross and he was so shocked that he actually said I should go first.  I'd stopped, though, so I said he may as well go across.

I contemplated walking around Newington Green, but when I got there, given how late it was, I actually had a clear run, so I went straight through.  I didn't want to miss out on what is now the best, smoothest, loveliest bit of road on my route home.  I carried on up the hill on Green Lanes, pootling along at a reasonable pace, but not too quick, as I was getting a bit tired.  I knew I would have to carry straight on down Green Lanes past Finsbury Park (rather than going through the park) and, as I approached the junction at Manor House tube station I suddenly realised that I had no idea whether to go straight on I had to be in the middle lane, or if it was OK to be in the left lane (i.e. I didn't know whether the left lane was left turn only, which was entirely possible at that particular junction).  I normally abandon the road just before the junction, walk across and then ride through the park, and as I came up to the hill towards the lights, I couldn't see the markings on the road, because of the hill and the wet surface, so I decided it would be best to walk across as usual.  I checked behind me, saw there was nothing approaching from behind, slowed down, signalled left and made to pull into a drive way I often use as an escape route before the junction.

AND THEN IT HAPPENED.  As I turned into the drive way, my gears (which had been a bit clunky the whole way home) skipped, my shoe (which was slightly wet on the bottom because of the wet roads) slipped off the pedal and I felt the bike escape from under me.  I knew that the best thing to do, in the circumstances, was to let go of the brakes and not to try to fight the direction the bike was going in (which was fine as it was actually heading further away from the road), as I could feel that I was going to fall over and I didn't want to be catapulted anywhere.  Before I knew it, I was in a heap on the floor, still astride the bike - I didn't even have time to get a foot down.  My first reaction - the bike, is the bike alright?  I looked around and could see that the back wheel was overhanging the road slightly, so I pulled it and myself further onto the driveway and then set about trying to get up.

It's important to note at this point that while there was very little traffic (thankfully), there were quite a few pedestrians around - not loads, but a few people waiting at a bus stop across the road and a few on their way toward the tube station.  Not a single one of them stopped to help me or even ask if I was OK (and, as James pointed out, they didn't even bother to try to mug me or nick my bike, either).  When I'd got both myself and the poor old Beeblemobile upright, I did a mental check of all my limbs and other vital bits and came to the conclusion that while I was a bit sore down my left side, nothing was broken and the chances were that I would live.  Then I had to figure out how the bike was.  As the pavement is very wide at the junction (because of the tube entrances) I tested it out - I know, I know, riding on the pavement, but it really would have been stupid to test it on the road and the park wasn't an option because of the dark.  All seemed moderately well, although it was making a few odd noises and the gears were still not quite right - crucially, though, the chain was still attached, I didn't appear to have a puncture and the brakes worked (plus nothing seemed to be bent in a way it shouldn't be).  I walked across the junction and then the thought struck me that I had to get back on and ride home.  I just had to.  If I didn't, there was a chance that I might never ride again.  So, on I got and home I rode.  As soon as I got home, I did the most clichéd thing I could possibly have done: I called my Mum.

A short while later, James came home from his friend's house armed with chocolate (and, bizarrely, Monster Munch) and all was well.  I'm very, very sore down my left side this morning and I have the sort of graze on my knee that I would have been extremely proud of when I was six, but I'm generally in reasonable shape.  The bike's going to the doctor's later today. It was due a service in any event, but I think it should be given the once over before I get on it again.  Unsurprisingly, today's cycling trip is being postponed, but hopefully only until tomorrow - I live to ride another day!

If you'd like to make a donation to British Heart Foundation in celebration of my having survived this cycling rite of passage, then please click on the JustGiving link at the top right hand side of the page!