Open Writing

Can you ride tandem? Whether you can or not the double-bike is coming back on the market.

We have had quite a few in our household. My parents kept our neighbours entertained for years with theirs. Every Sunday, weather permitting, my mother enclosed in my father’s corduroys would fill the saddlebags with sandwiches, while my dad filled the tyres. This was always the signal for much tablecloth and rug shaking in the area as news of the forthcoming take-off got around.

Our tandem was a three-seater. Discarding his former idea of turning our old pram into a sidecar so that we could all ride together, my dad had proudly speculated on a new chair which he fixed on their back wheel to accommodate my sister. When our dog who, whenever we forgot to lock him up was also a keen cyclist, came along it became a four-seater. I rode behind on an old ex-RAF model.

The chance to become a tandem slave came when I was courting. Another cycling duo enthusiastically converted us, and every weekend I took up my position behind my future husband. However much you love your partner, a perpetual view of his back pocket can wax monotonous.

For born leaders like me the suspense is also frustrating. Not knowing when the next gear is likely to change pace, having no control on direction – or as my driver puts it, having no choice but to do as I was told. To relieve this I was put on signal duty, but in the middle of heavy traffic, ‘Put your left arm out,’ can often be distorted. Then you have the demoralising task of either admitting you were concentrating on your ‘Madame Butterfly’ aria, or you simply guess and extend your right arm.

I developed a handy ‘rubbing out’ gesture to cope with wrong hand signals. By polishing the air with an imaginary duster, hopefully I cancelled the preceding signal. In particular smouldering circumstances I would turn and mouth an exaggerated ‘Sorry!’ to the bewildered faces behind.

We had a small motor fixed to help with hill work, but we soon discovered that although it sounded as if Barry Sheene was about to zoom over the horizon, if we stopped pedalling there was the embarrassing hazard of being overtaken by pedestrians.

Cyclists may believe that in their shorts they are God’s gift to the open road, but they have also to realise that once they enter a café, they begin to feel like something which has just crept out of the woodwork.

Wherever you go be prepared to bump into people you know. Like the time we cycled to York and met two snobby acquaintances who looked as if they had just dined with Norman Hartnell, whereas my dusty shorts did nothing to conceal my oil-tattooed legs. As fate determines on such days, we hadn’t tainted their path for years, yet an hour later we were under their noses again. This time I was dripping like a used tea-bag. While my hands pulled our rowing boat ashore, my feet had somehow pushed it out again, leaving my rear end in the river. Have you ever tried to follow you irate captain’s instructions while you and the rest of the crew are paralysed with laughter? It’s a slow body-soaking process.

Aside from the scars, cycling gave me an awareness for which I shall be eternally grateful. That magnificent sight of a no-pedal downhill stretch when your lungs are on the verge of collapse - the wind whistling through your shampoo and set as you speed downhill with your feet up. The bliss of being able to pause mid-pedal and watch a hunting kestrel as I did, and being able to get off and walk while cars are throbbing, with traffic light aggro. These are just a scattering of the rewards that come – free of charge – with your first bike or tandem!