BATTERY CHARGERS

If, like me, you’re 20 years of Friday night takeaways away from your fittest or most beautiful, then every crampfilled turn of the cranks probably reminds you that you’re too fat for this s**t. But you’re still pedalling. That’s the main thing. You haven’t given up, and in the back of your mind there’s a quiet, pained little voice saying: “Go on tubby, you can do it!” Then you hear the crush of gravel under tubeless rubber and feel a begrudging admiration for the real athlete who’s about to overtake you. You try to get control of your breathing, so your gasps don’t drown out the “Alright!” that’s given, and drop your eyes out of respect (and to do a furtive bike check), only to notice the ruddy great battery pack driving the contemptible f **** r uphill at warp factor 60! (The speed of retired businessmen with five grand padding out the pink corduroy trousers they wear o the bike. Sorry, that’s a bitter generalisation.)

The first few times I was more surprised than bitter. The technology was new, and seeing octogenarians pinning it round berms and powering a wheelie out the other side was a real novelty. But now, on almost every trip to the local bike park, I’m hounded by packs of battery-charged... cheaters. There, I said it! I wouldn’t mind if they were a bit apologetic when they whizzed past a traditionalist like me. A simple “Sorry!” and a bit of shameface would take the edge o . Despite everything, I still support their right to be there, but I’ll keep trying to intimidate them with my surprising turn of speed on the downhill... Daniel van den Toorn, via email

Just wait for the day their battery runs out, miles from home – then you’ll have the last laugh!