Cheers, ears! Back on the bike, but aborted Sunday

There's been a fair amount of discussion lately about the inevitability of life getting in the way of cycling; one day it's me aborting, the next it's Andy, and when I look back over the past month, there's not been a great deal of riding. Last week I found myself in Winchester, the week before I was in Scotland and I was as deaf as a post (see previous post).

On Friday I went to the doctor's to sort my ears out once and for all and, during the process, there was a fantastic moment when, all of a sudden, I could hear again. Suddenly I could hear the whirr of machinery (the surgery's heating system, perhaps, I'm not sure), then, on returning home the noises of the house, absent for two or three months, had returned. Every creak, every knock, startled me and then a strange scratching, which turned out to be a magpie on the sill of the landing window. It was as if my life had suddenly acquired Dolby Surround Sound.

Andy and the bikes at the Tatsfield Bus Stop

I was looking forward to Saturday's ride and while the weather was cloudy and overcast and there was a fine rain that didn't really affect anything, it was good to be riding along the Limpsfield Road en route to the green to meet Andy. Having not been on the bike for a good fortnight, riding up Church Way proved more of an effort than usual, but soon the green (and Andy) appeared and we decided to ride 'the slow way' to the Tatsfield Bus Stop.

Andy had been cultivating a scraggly-looking beard and I started to wonder whether he fancied himself as a hipster, but no, he told me, it would be coming off over the weekend – there had been complaints. I certainly didn't envy him the task of removing it, there's nothing worse than shaving after a day or two, let alone a few weeks. Rather him than me, I thought.

We wove our way around the country lanes towards Beddlestead Lane, that interminable climb towards Clarks Lane, and then hung a left and sailed towards the bus stop where the tea and BelVita's were produced. Andy had forgotten his cup.

The plan was to ride today, Sunday, and I've been kicking myself for aborting early this morning. I didn't get a good night's sleep, waking here and there throughout the night, and by 0500hrs (or thereabouts) I figured it best to abort. Now, looking outside at 0825hrs, the sun is shining and the sky is blue and I can't say I'm happy about the situation. Another missed opportunity.

At the bus stop yesterday, we discussed not cycling and worked out that the colder months of the year were to blame for most 'abort' texts. I randomly looked at the month of January 2013 on my iPhone (oddly there was a clear signal, there isn't normally). I accessed the mobile phone version of the blog and found that, apart from one ride on New Year's Day, by yours truly, we didn't cycle together that month until 26th January, almost an entire month without riding. Why? A mixture of reasons: travelling, holidays, heavy snow, you name it.

Apart from walking, cycling is my only form of exercise and I really need to ensure that I ride at least twice a week (Saturday and Sunday). I should really try and get one in during the week too, possibly a mid-week ride to work or even a "Botley before work? What a burk!" So watch this space. I often think about taking the bike into work by train and cycling home.

The bad months for riding are usually January and February. The run-up to Christmas is usually fairly mild, characterised by days like today, which are clear and crisp and full of blue skies and sunshine, even in December.

Here's to next week.