There’s one word no one’s ever used to describe me. Well, OK there are probably plenty. No one’s ever described me as ‘svelte’ or ‘pious’, after all. I’ve never heard ‘classy’ except through a thick layer of sarcasm, while I’m in the throes of strawpedo-ing a bottle of Lambrini. But the particular word I’m thinking of is something I have always wanted to be. I’ve longed for it, yearned for it, aspired to become it, and spent my whole life failing. Until recently.
When I ride through the streets of London, I feel powerful. But I’ve been called ‘powerful’ many times before. Sometimes in good ways, like when I achieve something difficult and a friend wants to give me my well-earned kudos. Sometimes in bad ways, like when men have been making unwelcome comparisons between me and another woman – a more feminine one. Someone delicate and petite.
I longed to be one of those delicate, petite girls when I was younger. I loved frilly dresses and ringlets and beautifully-shaped shoes that fit neatly on small feet. I even took ballet classes, if you can imagine that. Back when I was young. Back when I wasn’t almost six feet tall.
I ride an XL bike, now. The biggest frame I can find. It took me ages to choose a bike I loved, because all the ones I test rode seemed slightly off. They didn’t fit my too-large body, or they felt too heavy or just not right. Eventually I found this one – the one – the one that makes my heart sing as I carve up the streets of the city. Checking over my shoulder to make sure no one’s behind me before sailing out of the bike lane and into the road – overtaking all the men on tank-like Limes.
I have always wanted to be smaller. I think I have convinced myself that being smaller would solve a lot of my problems. Men won’t be cruel if I’m petite, will they? The main reason they do what they do is because I’ve never been attractive. And I’ll never be attractive because I’m always too big. Too fat, too stacked, too tall, too… you know. Too much. If I were smaller I’d be pretty. Dainty. Petite.
I don’t think much about these things when I’m riding my bike. I’m too focused on what’s in front. As I spot the red light at a junction, and the pedestrian numbers ticking down, I slow – click down the gears – then come to a hovering stop. Balancing on the pedals with just enough of a crawl that I haven’t halted completely, before red, amber, green then let’s go – I sail away. I manage to do this without putting feet down. Without ever really, truly stopping.
I don’t know at what point I stopped believing it was possible to feel comfortable and at ease with my body. Perhaps when I was around ten, and my ballet teacher let me know that this dancing thing I enjoyed so much could only ever be a hobby. Already it was clear that I’d be big. Tall. Long-limbed and large and occupying far too much fucking space. I thought that was where my clumsiness came from, to be honest. I knock things over, step on plugs, am constantly tripping or stumbling or banging into things.
Except when I’m on my bike.
When I’m on my bike I am looking at the road ahead, and the pavement ahead, and even if I’m moderating my speed to avoid crashing into the slow guy on a Lime bike (seriously, my dudes, the power-assist on those things is speed limited and you will never beat my pushbike on the straight), I can also see the rest of the world unfolding in detail around me. I can stare a hundred yards ahead and be singing along to the tunes in my ears, yet still tell you exactly which pedestrian is about to walk out into the street. I see them turn without looking, I watch them lurch forward, but I’m ten steps ahead and already into the road: check blind spot, signal with my right hand, glide out and merge with the traffic so I don’t smash into the twat who doesn’t understand that the bike lane’s dangerous too.
I wish more people understood how potent the right compliments can be. Not just throwing out the same things you’ve said many times before, or parroting kind words that could apply to anyone. I mean identifying something somebody aspires to be, then telling them exactly when they nail it: it’s one of the greatest ways to give someone joy for free. I’m not sure I’ve ever been called ‘beautiful’ by a guy that I love, but I have heard ‘pretty’ on occasion. Each time it makes me glow. It powers me through days, weeks, sometimes longer. I understand why I do not hear it more (it doesn’t fit), but at the same time I sometimes think: how hard would it be to see the pretty in someone you love? Even if they look like me: too big, too awkward, too clumsy, too much. There must be things about me that compel these men, or they wouldn’t keep working to stay in my life. Would it hurt to call me ‘pretty’ one or two more times a year, given how much joy that one word brings me?
I digress. There’s one word I aspire to above almost all the others. No one else has ever called me this, but I feel it on my bike.
When I crest a hill and soar over it, clicking up the gears as I pick up speed on the way down….
When I signal with confidence then sail round a corner….
When I sweep out to overtake a group of people riding far too slowly…
When I stand up on the pedals just to feel the wind on more of my body, or blaze across an empty junction at midnight with music pounding in my head, or click-click-click down the gears then filter smoothly past thirty cars or check over my shoulder and pull out to get round three buses or turn left into the park with the wind behind me and no one telling me off or expecting anything of me or holding me to standards I could never hope to meet.
I feel it, on my bike.
On my bike, I am graceful.
12 Comments
The first time I met you I ended up debriefing with my glrfriend in the late evening and we both agreed that you are, indeed, very pretty. (And that was on your first day, as opposed to the following day, when you’d had a drink and started talking about bumming. You were still pretty then.)
I’ve never seen you on your bike (something I should keep an eye out for when I’m in Central London, really), but your writing is visual enough to paint a mental picture. Maybe it is, indeed, an epitome of grace.
You’ve had a lot of adventures on your bike. Maybe you should write a book about it.
Ah that’s very kind of you ILB (and your girlfriend). Although now I am really curious as to whether or not ‘talking about bumming’ in general makes someone prettier or less pretty (I think the former, but I also know I’ve been told off for being too vocal about sex in the pub before so who knows ;-) . V kind of you to say that though.
That would be fun re: books and bikes. To be honest right now I am trying to hunt down any way that I might be able to make ‘cycling blogger’ a thing alongside the sex blogger thing. If I could, maybe I could spend my entire life just cycling freely around all the Eurovelo routes in Europe?? The absolute dream…
I’ve been loving riding my bike this year having just arrived in the Netherlands. I wouldn’t say I feel graceful or powerful but perhaps that will come. Right now I feel slow compared to everyone else.
I do love how my abs look cuter than they have in years. That was a nice surprise! I hadn’t known that might happen!
I appreciate your writing about this! While our details don’t fully match up, I know what it can feel like to have someone give a compliment that I thirsted for!
Oh, ‘graceful’ is a great word to describe how I feel while cycling too, I’d never considered that before. Your descriptions of the joys of cycling speak deeply to me, the bike just feels part of me at times. Also: the cycle blogging world needs an eloquent writer such as yourself (or a book as ILB suggests)!
I do occasionally wonder about the kink / cycling Venn diagram intersection. (A friend a while back asked if my AB/DL kink was why I like cycling – on the basis that cycling shorts add bulk between the legs. I was deeply amused as there’s no association and they’re totally different sensations.) I would read your cycling blogs.
I totally get this too. I ride a mountain bike, well, in the Rocky Mountains where I live, and there is nothing better. It makes you feel so powerful. Well, except when you’re crawling up a steep hill trying not to die, then you just feel slow and out of breath. But even then, worth it! And recently I’ve made a new mountain biking friend, met her at a local race, and we’ve been riding together, it’s fun to share the sport! I love following her through the curves and over the rocks, watching the lines she takes, and she’ll watch me and copy my line too. And yes, she is powerful, skilled (really good at handling the bike), beautiful and graceful. Just as you are! And all of you out there on the internets, whatever you do, on or off the bike, you’re graceful too!
As a shorty, I always wanted to be tall and “statuesque.” So, I guess we all want something we’re not. I think that’s human nature. As a shorty, I wouldn’t say I’m “graceful” on my bike, but it does bring me so much joy.
Hi GOTN,
I never thought that my first comment on your blog would be on one of your cycling articles.
If I had to guess I’d say I’d be reading your blog since 2 years now. Not very frequently and not all articles but I liked what I saw and read and heard and it stuck with me. I think your way of writing is just amazing and since I’m not a native speaker your way with words leads to a constant extension of my vocabulary.
I read your article about your Danube trip when I was in the beginnings of the preparations of my own biggest bike trip so far. With a friend from northern Germany to London.
I never managed to comment on that one but I got a few, very useful advices from you there, eg not to bike from Harwich to London, which helped us to decide which ferry to take.
And now you’re posting this entry when we just arrived in London a few days ago, and this seems to me like a very crazy coincidence. This is already my third time in London and I’m very much in love with the city, but this is my first time biking here and I’m still not very comfortable with left-hand traffic but I can very much imagine how it must feel like to be so sure-pedaled in this absolute chaos of traffic that gives me bigger adrenaline kicks than any rollercoaster as you are.
So I’m a bit jealous that you have the opportunity to bike in this amazingly overwhelming city basically everyday and I think your way of describing it is as comprehensible and fascinating as I can think of and I’m very grateful that you put my feelings into words.
So pls pls pls do more cycling articles!
Ohhh that’s so wonderful to hear! I’m delighted I could be helpful and I hope you have a wonderful time in London ❤️ Do you mind me asking which ferry you took, and how you found the route from port to London? I’m planning another trip at the mo and although I’ll start with Harwoch, I’m contemplating a different ferry for my journey back at the end.
Thank you so much! Simply being here is already amazing.
We took the Dunkerque-Dover ferry and it was, well… interesting. Riding through Dunkerque is not much fun, partly because it’s all industrial harbour and rather ugly, but mainly because it’s a giant area with absolute no infrastructure for bikes whatsoever. So we fought our way over motorway-like roundabouts with the HGV’s only feet away and it was all very stressful.
From Dover to London we took a little detour over Canterbury. The landscape was a big improvement compared to the piece of France that we passed, but we had lots of difficulties, or rather weren’t able to find a campsite. (If you’ll be staying in prebooked accommodations again, that shouldn’t be a problem for you.) Oh, and I’ll have to admit that the NCN is a bit of an imposition, but we are probably used to other standards after a week cycling through the Netherlands.
So I wouldn’t really recommend cycling through Dunkerque and we are considering taking a different ferry on our way back.
The trip from Dover to London is very beautiful but has some very steep inclines (especially right in Dover is one very hard one) and the bike routes aren’t the best (we partially had to drive directly next to the crash barrier of a 4 lane motorway).
We have about 1½ weeks to spare after London. Can you recommend an area in England or the UK that we can explore with our bikes?
I hope my description are helpful, and I’m looking forward to a (potential) account of your next trip.
Ah thank you that is super helpful! I will definitely avoid Dunkerque in future then, that sounds like a nightmare!
In terms of UK cycling, I am honestly quite a rubbish person to give advice on this as I’ve not done much. When I want to do a long trip I always head to Europe because it really is just so much better there. BUT if it helps, I’m currently planning a little trip to the Isle of Wight – each year they do the Randonnee which is a cycling challenge that takes you round the whole island. i don’t want to do the organised one cos I’d have to wait till next year but I think you can just do it any time. There’s also a nice route from London to Brighton which I’ll probably try and do at some point – though avoiding the South Downs Way. I know people who have cycled the South Downs way and it’s very much for hardcore cyclists (and a bike that can handle stony paths!) but if you are up for that sort of thing that might be worth checking out. I’m so sorry I can’t be more helpful though. I hope you have a wonderful time no matter where you decide to go =)
This is a beautiful post by a clearly beautiful human engaged in a beautiful activity. Being in the present moment on a bicycle lets you live free of the constraints of past and future—just as you’ve eloquently described. Swoop, glide, fly, power (and all your own words) is to embody a life of elegance and grace. Thank you for this description. One more reason I admire you.