By Alister Heywood,
I cycled to school in South Lakeland, practically lived on two wheels at university in Southampton and even bought a second-hand bike on my year abroad in Spain. Like most people I knew I ended up working in London, where cycling saw me through several transport strikes, various bomb scares and a couple of holidays by bike.
But then, on the night before my 29th birthday, someone broke into my flat, tore it apart and took – among many other things – my lovely, trusty Falcon wheels. Soon after, I left London, acquired a silver Renault 5 and set off on a new adventure, back home in the north. I didn’t look back – and I never replaced my bike.
Now, 30 years on and several stone heavier, thoughts turn to my post-lockdown pounds. When I rode a bike, I remember, I could eat what I liked and was skinny as a rake (that’s rose-coloured spectacle-talk, but I was indeed effortlessly slim). I recall the feeling of being at one with my bike, zipping up and down hills and dales, in and out of its 10 gears, and I want it again.
One unmissable Black Friday deal later and I’m the pleased-as-punch owner of a folding bike, purchased directly from Raleigh at less than half price and fulfilled by the fabulous fellas at Jobes Cycles on Anlaby Road. It’s a beauty! A gorgeous, glossy, cobalt blue (bit like an X5 Beemer) with a tan seat and handle grips. Just made for picture-perfect pedal-pushing.
With this, I tell myself, I’ll be able to get out and about and won’t be constricted to the inner city. I picture the scene: off into the Wolds with the sun on my face and the wind whooshing through my hair – I’m 17 again. But 40 years later, I’m not in South Lakeland and I have short hair. I live in inner-city Hull and, quite frankly, urban roads are terrifying – even with the cycle lanes.
Sharing a space with taxis, buses, vans and pedestrians while negotiating Spring Bank in the rush hour is very far from the joyful experience of my youth on the B roads around Beetham. I am SCARED! On top of that, I’m totally unfit, my centre of gravity has shifted and my reactions have dulled. I WOBBLE! One trip around the block later and I’m simply glad to still be alive. I’m PALPITATING! This isn’t what I had in mind at all.
Meanwhile, my son’s girlfriend, Gina, has signed up for an electric bike via her employer’s Cycle to Work scheme. I accompany her on her maiden voyage along Sunny Bank. “Up to Hymers Ave, turn left along Spring Bank and left into Brandesburton Street,” I suggest as she hits the turbo charge and literally screams past me: “I don’t liiiiiiiikkkkkkkkkke it!” Up at the junction, Gina refuses point blank to get back on the bike.
Walking back to the house, a flash of inspiration disturbs our otherwise dismal demeanour. All those hours spent on social media have not been in vain. “There’s a thing called Rusty Riders and we should sign up for it,” I say.
And so we find ourselves, on the first Saturday of February, hanging about in the car park at Costello Stadium, waiting for First Steps Cycle to turn up. There’s only the two of us – well, it is February, and rain is threatening. It’s been a trial getting both bikes in and out of the car, so we’re not in the best of moods but still, we’ve made it this far. No turning back now.
Just as we’re on the point of turning back, Trev and Dan show up. Two alarmingly athletic – dare I say skinny – sporting supremos bedecked in hi-vis with cycling shades, gloves and the best bikes for the purpose: a Boardman and a Ridgeback. For a moment I think Chris Hoy and Jason Kenny are in Hull.
“I thought to start with we’d go once round the park and then on to the Humber Bridge,” Trev announces confidently. “You’re joking,” I say, gingerly. Gina can’t speak.
I tell Trev we’re not so much rusty as completely rusted – probably giving off iron oxide fumes, in fact – and basically terrified of cycling on roads, while Dan lays out a slalom of cones in front of us. It’s an assessment.
A couple of laps later and there’s been a radical re-assessment. We’ll go once around Peter Pan park, says Trev, and then on to Anlaby Road where there’s a nice, wide, bollarded bicycle path, via the quiet back streets en route. He’ll lead, Dan will take up position at the rear and anytime we want to stop, just shout.
Off we go, heading straight into the morning Park Run. Everyone’s really nice – smiling and saying hello (or maybe they were really laughing and that was actually ‘hell’ oh…). Have you seen Squid Game on Netflix? Well, dodging the stragglers had all the hallmarks of episode one.
Thanks to a well-placed cut-through, we finally make it onto Anlaby Road. Trev’s right – the cycle path is great: not only is it nice and wide, it’s also dedicated to bicycles. No scary sharing. I think kindly of Jobes Cycles, over on the right as we approach the Calvert Lane junction. I wonder if they can see me now. Then again, I hope not.
At this point, Trev realises Gina and Dan are no longer with us. I mean, they’ve stopped, not that they’re no longer with us, so having negotiated the traffic lights, we also stop and take stock of the situation. Dan and Gina decide to go back to the park, while Trev and I carry on and up a section of bike track to the right of Greggs. By this time, I’m feeling pretty confident. I’m keeping pace with Trev, using an arm to signal and negotiating obstacles like parked cars and a van reversing out of Bell and Higgins.
“It’s just like driving,” shouts Trev, “All you need is practice.” But it’s not really – it’s far better than that. As the wheels go round, the exercise is pumping endorphins round my body. I’m not used to it and it feels GREAT! I can’t help smiling as I enjoy a sense of wellbeing I haven’t had since… well, probably since I was 29.
You just don’t get that sitting in a car. In fact, the endorphins you’re most likely to experience are stress-related while stuck in a traffic jam or giving in to road rage. They certainly don’t make you feel good. I ponder all this as we make our way back to the stadium. Gina and Dan aren’t there.
While Trev and I have been reminiscing about university days in the awesome 80s, Dan has sorted out Gina’s saddle so it’s a bit higher and no longer putting stress on her knees, and they’ve been round the park a few times. She simply couldn’t cope with the noise of the traffic, she said, but she would persevere.
Handing back our hi-vis tabards in exchange for some LED lights and a few of those bike-spoke beads the kids seem to like, all that was left was to thank Trev and Dan for taking time out of their weekends to come and help a couple of latent learners like us.
If I had one suggestion to make, it would be to consider devising a longer course over a few weeks for absolute beginners. Rusty Riders is, as it says on the tin, for people who have ridden before but need a refresher. It’s free, it’s a great way to build up confidence and credit where it’s due, Trev and Dan did everything they possibly could to make sure we got the most out of the session. Pivoting like the agile pros they were, they instantly re-tailored their plans to take account of our differing needs and parlous prowess.
I really enjoyed the session and Gina is willing to give her bike another chance. That’s two massive results!
Details
Rusty Riders is a training course for adults who want to brush up on their cycling skills, become more confident and begin riding their bikes more often.
The two-and-a-half-hour sessions, led by qualified instructors, are fully funded for individuals and groups by Hull City Council. They are designed to refresh the skills of adults returning to cycling and prepare them to cycle safely.
Between now and mid-March 2023, courses are on offer at Costello Stadium, East Park and Hull History Centre. For more information and to book, call 01482 218 753 or head to:
Friends of the Earth Hull 