VIRTUOUS CYCLE
Brenwin Naidu foregoes horsepower and uses his calf muscles
Some weeks ago Lifestyle writer Oliver Roberts regaled readers with his experience of the 2018 Comic Con event. It was an amusingly irreverent account, in my view, with snarky garnishes that elicited more than a few guilty giggles. The community in question was quite aggrieved the following Monday. Now, this is not to say one should make a pastime of deriding some of the more arcane subcultures out there.
But impartial observers are always going to take flak for commentary on esoteric fraternities of which they are not members.
And who wants to read sycophantic gushing anyway? Some of my best friends are “influencers” and they provide enough of that.
Last week I dipped a toe in the water of a pursuit involving two-wheeled, nonmotorised vehicles. A description as formal as that might give you the impression that I rode a Penny Farthing. May as well have been, given how slowly I pedalled. A little more on that in a bit.
Cycling has been dubbed by many as the new golf. Initially, I’d figured the parallel existed because both sports involved losing and damaging one’s balls. Not so, apparently: I’m told there’s fellowship and camaraderie in such a dynamic activity. And after a spirited session, you might want to cool off over a kale juice with your network, so lubricating an exchange of business ideas, deals and whatever else.
Consider the kind of weight supporting some of the country's prestigious cycling challenges. Financial institutions, insurance companies, specialist apparel producers — powerful associations that speak to an empowered demographic.
So it was that yours truly decided to immerse himself in the world of the spandex brigade. Ingredients of the starter pack? Spandex, obviously. A helmet, borrowed from high school friend Matthew Mohr. And, of course, a bicycle. Introducing fellow motoring journalist Sean Nurse, who not only graciously availed one of his impressive-looking, spoked wonders, but also offered to chaperone me on my first outing.
He is a card-carrying member of the leotarded elite. And as one of the kindest people you will meet, the guy defies that stereotype plaguing our friends who take to the yellow lanes on Sunday mornings. That their tempers often get ahead of them. Of course, such reactions are not unprovoked, given how inconsiderately some drive. But that is a subject for another day.
We headed to the safe, tranquil, carfree trails of Modderfointein Reserve. After some initial fumbling (and a fall, admittedly) I was pushing ahead with confidence on the upward slope towards the start of the circuit. We agreed to begin my initiation with the easiest 10km route.
What an exhilarating feeling. Wind in the face. Blood pumping to all my vital organs. Heart beating with resolve. Calves burning.
You can understand why this is such a great stress-reliever: you cannot think of much else while focusing on maintaining your steam.
It is almost enough to make you forget that ache in the groin.
About 3km into the session I realised I was sold on the novelty of cycling. And with that, I motioned to Sean that this fact-finding mission was successful. Being the good soul he is, he quelled his laughter. We then turned around and headed back to the restaurant where I ordered a huge bowl of pasta and a cappuccino. It was earned. LS