Porridge and Lycra

I seem to attract strangers.

I should qualify that statement.

If I am on my own (and that can be quite often]  in a public place or even in the middle of nowhere you can be sure that I will be accosted by some lone individual keen to avail me of their current circumstances or their life story.

It happened today to me. I will present you with a picture of where I was and what I was doing.

Dressed in my summer cycling lycra I was tackling a gentle but very long incline, yes of course on my racing bike.

It was a bit of a struggle on three counts.

1) it was an incline
2)There was a niggling head wind
3) I had already been at work for 6 hours prior to deciding to go out for a bit of exercise.

These two obstacles to enjoyment and performing in good and breathless style were complicated further by the rather sudden deflation of my front tyre- curse those farmers for not even trying to sweep up their trimmings after macerating the headland hedges with tractor mounted cutter.

My son, with whom I was riding, was just disappearing over the blind summit on the road ahead and failed to hear my frantic wolf whistle to alert him to my situation.

I dismounted and wrestled out of the forks the front wheel before half undressing mainly to retrieve the large bulges of spares and tools in my rear jersey pockets but also mindful of overheating now that the natural cooling effect of that pesky wind was temporarily curtailed by the sheltering effect of tall hedges.

The grass verge resembled the operating table of a surgeon strewn with tyre levers, inner tubes, clever multi tool and compact bike pump as well as a small pile of discarded stretchy clothing.

Stripping out the thin, high pressure or lack of it, innards of the tyre and inflating it immediately revealed the position of the puncture, or rather a pair of incisions quite close together just adjacent to the valve. It was obviously unrepairable and so fully removed and ceremoniously or rather petulantly thrown down in true prima donna fashion. Venting anger and frustration on an inanimate object can be quite satisfying.

The two spares included one previously repaired tube and rather than use the brand new one I opted for that.

I was then conscious of being watched.

Looking up through eyes reddened and stinging with perspiration I saw my sole spectator, a cyclist.

He was perhaps a bit younger than me but as cyclists quickly adjudge, heavier and bulkier. A monotone but kindly voice asked if I needed any help but as serious cyclists quickly respond in such situations I replied that I was "ok, thank you very much".

In other and more social environments this would be taken as an instantly recognisable signal to go our own ways and not force the conversation but the man began to impart the critical facts of his day so far, bikeography ( a term I just thought of to describe the practice of talking about every bike ever owned), training routine, loyalties to a particular local bike shop and how his employer, HM Prison Service, had helped him splash out on his current machine through a Government ride to work scheme.

I was busy trying to correctly place the inner tube between rim and tyre and so, to my shame, only took in a small proportion of his words.

He was out on a short two hour ride but at the price of having had an argument with his wife who wanted him to use the time to do the school run. I muttered some supporting sentiments along the lines of "us men need to look after our health in the best interests of our families" and that pseudo moral support established a common bond between us.

Like me his biking exploits had helped him shift some considerable excess body weight and the fear of putting it back on ensured that cycling remained a regular form of activity, bordering on an obsession.

The time passed quickly as I warmed to the guy and we chit chatted as though old pals.

My son re-appeared over the horizon after carrying on for about four miles before noticing my absence and the three of us prepared, a bit awkwardly, to part.

Perhaps we might meet again out on the road.

I think that I would remember him- Planet X carbon fibre bike , matt black, deep rim stainless steel spoke wheels, SRAM chainset, 18 speed, and....oh yes, I think he may have had a beard.