Being as I'm pretty anxious about cycling down my own street, I've got a long way to go in the next 6 months; physically, mentally, literally... Yesterday Clare gallantly cycled all the way from Clapham to lead the way on our first ride together (and virtually my first bike ride since the age of 11). First job, hauling Violet (decrepit old bike that, sorry Violet, will be getting me nowhere near Paris) out of my basement flat, up the near vertical stairs and onto the pavement. This done, we then realised that not only does the back brake not work, it was stuck in the 'on' position and the wheel won't go round. Cue over 40 minutes of calls to Dad and pathetic spanner wielding... Eventually, our new friend Luke, a helpful electrician from the upstairs flat, emerges to find out what all the fuss is about, and fixes the problem in about 90 seconds flat.Finally, we're on our way. Now I thought we'd just be pottering around some residential streets and perhaps venturing to the Thames path, but we decided to brave Hammersmith Bridge and I'm immediately regretting this decision as we're beeped at by angry passing cars. This wasn't quite the induction I was hoping for, and we're soon stuck on a long main road squeezing past solid traffic, and as we're heading into Barnes and my thighs already start to ache, I'm wondering how we're ever going to make it to Putney Bridge, let alone Paris. We do get there in the end, although it's never occurred to me while sitting on buses that bridges are small hills and I'm very aware as I crawl up towards a bus stop that the many grumpy-looking people glaring at me are waiting for me to get on with it so they can catch the bus that is stuck behind me.
Eventually we make it triumphantly back to my flat, and I excitedly look up our route on the internet to find out how far we went. 5 miles. Just 225 more to Paris...
