The Legend

Prospects of a return to competitive cycling, or any other sort come to that, were being downplayed after an unexpected sighting of this legend* (see footnote) of 1990's distance events at a track in Swindon at the weekend. A few stone over an ideal racing weight means there's not really world enough, or time, for a comeback some 10 or 12 years after last getting on, and then off, a bike but it felt better than I had any right to expect it to.

The track was never my thing but the chance to ride with the family's young apprentice squad on my niece's bike, who looked as good as she ever did on it and much better than me, was much too difficult to pass up. Cycling can be undertaken without any competitive element whatsoever but it's surprising how quickly all that kicks back in when a likely-looking rival is available. What transpired was a Race for the Ages as I chased my 7yo great nephew down the back straight but had to sit in behind him through some highly technical twists and turns, waiting to pick him off in the finish.

That wasn't a given thing, though. He was well aware of where I was and as I came on the outside to do him for a turn of pace, he showed trackcraft beyond his years and edged across to block me. Well, I could hardly risk crashing such a nice bike so kindly lent so I had to switch inside, a bit like Lester Piggott did on Vacarme in the Richmond Stakes at Goodwood in 1983 for which he was disqualified but, like Lester, I made sure I got there first and they can ask questions later.

It's true I got beat in the re-match but I didn't know it was a re-match, didn't even realize he was on the track, but an honourable draw is the most sporting result. 

You never quite forget how to do it. It all comes flooding back. It is, in fact, a bit like riding a bike.

 

* legend, for these purposes it is only necessary to be considered a legend by one admirer. I did precious little to be such to anybody else but I felt like one and irony is my preferred mode of writing anyway.