Brave?

I don’t consider myself a brave person. I’m not someone who thinks feel the fear and do it anyway, more feel the fear and not bother, sit down with a cup of tea. There’s another one: do something that scares you every day. No thanks. When it comes to fight or flight I’m up for the latter every time. If I’m honest, getting out of bed scares the crap out of me some days and, currently, I have to muster all my courage to put a log on the fire – the wood we’re using has firework aspirations and spits like an angry cat at the first suggestion of heat. I opened the logburner the other day and had to leap out of the way as an ember launched itself at me. Nothing like the smell of burning carpet to galvanise you.

When it comes to bikes it’s fair to say I’m a nervous cyclist. Most of the time I enjoy being on the bike; that’s why I do it. But every time I ride I feel a frisson of fear and, when the weather isn’t driving my decision, the lack of incentive is usually more mental than physical. That may sound as though I don’t know what I’m doing and therefore somewhat half-baked to be getting on two wheels. The truth is I know what I should be doing but, even as one half of my brain is telling me what that is, the other half is cautioning: But what if… I’ve only broken a bone twice and each time was through falling off a bike. Or, as I like to be accurate in my reportage, being thrown off one.

A condition of me doing the Alps to Ocean was to get an e-bike. I knew it would be the only way I’d remotely enjoy the ride and I was proved right, there being enough hills that Neil would have needed to carry War and Peace to read whilst he was waiting for me to get up them. I also knew that, should the weather cark it, neither of us would have been happy. Especially Neil. I would never have managed it without my new friend, Evie, and her assistance.

E-bike or not, there were a couple of days on the trail when I did not want to get out of bed and ride, purely led by the fear that I wouldn’t stay on it due to the terrain we would be riding on. The first day it happened turned out to not be too bad, but it didn’t reassure me that the second would be the same. It wasn’t and I had to give myself a stern talking-to a few times during that day. Before I even get on a bike I send up a prayer to the gods of cycling to be nice to me. Every time I stop pedalling I give thanks to them that I have done so of my own volition and not at their will. Frequently when riding I invoke the goddess of cyclocross, Puck Peiterse…

Finishing the A2O was bittersweet for me. Genuinely I was amazed I hadn’t fallen off, not even come close really, and my body was looking forward to a rest. But I knew I would miss the exercise and being out in fresh air every day, not to mention the gorgeous scenery. At the end Neil said: I’m proud of you. He wasn’t being patronising – he knows that, even with the battery assistance that makes it physically easier for me to get on a bike, mentally I often find it challenging. I wouldn’t do half of what I do without his support and encouragement (and, let’s be fair, I’m not just talking cycling here) and he never fails in that.

A few days after we got home I saw a post on social media from All On The Board: Today you did something that scared you. You should be proud of yourself. It isn’t something I’m good at. My upbringing was proverbial – a fall will likely be lurking somewhere close should you indulge in a little self-congratulation. I tend to be better at self-deprecation, but, coupled with Neil’s comment, reading that did make me preen a little and stand a bit taller. Just a bit – I can’t afford to get too cocky in case there’s a fall waiting around the corner. One that’s likely to be from two wheels.