Beautiful day, Spring is on the way. Time to don the strange garment designed to reduce the battering that my undercarriage receives whilst cycling. I thought of going to Portland but this being my first serious cycle ride of the year, I thought I should take it a little easier so I stopped at Weymouth after taking on my old adversary, the Ridgeway.
If you are a cyclist, you will know that the wind always seems to be in your face, whichever way you are pointing. This was particularly true today as I headed South. However this turned out to be a stiffish Southerly breeze so my return trip to Dorchester was most pleasant.
I joined the coast at Overcombe Corner and cycled carefully and considerably towards Greenhill preparing to verbally berate cyclists ignoring the bike free zone.
The most common response from the criminal cycling community is ‘I’m only going slowly’. Then it’s a case of how many of these I can fit in whilst they’re still in earshot…
‘The signs say ‘No Cycling’, not ‘Don’t Cycle Fast”.
‘It’s like a burglar being caught red-handed and claiming that he only stole some cutlery’.
‘It’s like breaking someone’s arm and saying that they still have another arm’.
‘It’s like peeing in the street and saying that at least you didn’t poop’.
And so on. I have hundreds.
Now here’s the thing. I get to Greenhill and dismount like a good citizen. Imagine my surprise when I read a big sign that says ‘Cycling Permitted’.
When did that happen? I mean, I’ve read stuff on local Facebook groups about the possibility of it happening but there’s so much drivel on there, I’ve never taken anything seriously.
The signs also point out that pedestrians have the right of way. Can’t argue with that. After all it’s a promenade – literally a public place for walking.
After a few yards, there was one of these on the ground.
So I dismounted after imagining 20 pairs of eyes disapprovingly pointing my way. A cyclist drifted by. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I was a broken man.
I walked past another sign which encouraged me to remount. So I did. But then I cycled over another no cycling sign so I got off. Lesser men would have burst into tears but I held it together.
At the Pier Bandstand, more ‘Cycling Permitted’ signs were being displayed so I remounted and decided that this time I would stay on. I cycled very carefully being in more danger of toppling off due to lack of momentum than encroaching on a pedestrian’s space.
It felt dirty and yet at the same time – empowering. A bit like going to the gym late in the afternoon. I wont expand on that.
Anyway, on past the Ivy Coffee House that used to be The New Rooms Inn with it’s semi outside gents, bizarre collection of keyrings, bar billiards room and where I captained the darts team at the age of 17. In October 1974 he heard that it was my birthday and kindly laid on some food for the evening. He was a bit miffed when he found out that it was my 18th as I had drinking there for a couple of years. I told him I was old enough now so what was he going to do.
A bit sad to see this sign. Some of my fondest childhood memories are about this corner of the pier. Many summer hours were whiled away here as we strove for more and more daring ways to throw ourselves into the water to the delight of the throng of holidaymakers. Can’t do that anymore. Far too dangerous. Apparently.
The feature pic is my ride enjoying the view across the bay from the end of the stone pier. ‘But why?’ – I hear you ask – ‘do you have a Rapid Rob on the front and a Nobby Nic on the rear?’. Well the answer is very straightforward. Original rear Rapid Rob got all his pimples worn off and the hippy electric bike shop only had Nobby Nics. Earth shattering.
davesimba 