If only everything in life was as simple as a bike ride

Perhaps it’s a warning sign when I leave the house and lock the door, before realising I’ve left my helmet inside. The amount of layers I’m wearing means the whole shenanigans of retrieving my keys takes a lot longer than it really should. And it is not until I get a few miles down the road that I realise I’ve left my water bottle next to the kitchen sink. Still, it’s not a hot day; I reckon I’ll be fine without it and press on.

For the next few miles my thoughts are consumed with what I’m wearing – either too much or too little. There is a saying: “There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing”. My problem is not the clothing – I have plenty of good kit but I just never seem to wear it on the right days. On this occasion I’m in a right state. My fingers (despite the thermal gloves) are painfully cold, as are my toes, but my torso is cooking like a boil-in-the-bag chicken.

Once I’ve sorted out my wardrobe malfunctions my thoughts can return to the ride. Checking my GPS, I see I am flying along like a machine. With my ever-increasing speed and my legs pumping away like pistons, I feel on top of the world.

All that recent training must be paying off, I tell myself, and I allow a hint of smugness to my smile.

I always forget to eat on a ride and usually arrive back with a blackened banana still in my back jersey pocket. Not this time though. I’m on top form and I don’t want to risk an energy dip so I open the cereal bar that has been lurking in my saddle pack for the last 12 months and take a bite. It is the sort of snack that, consumed with a cup of tea, might just be edible. Without even a sip of water to my name, sawdust would be easier to swallow. To add to my distress, I have just hit the bottom of a hill and, out of breath, I open my mouth to try to gulp in more oxygen and end up looking more like a wood chipper as I spit unchewed cereal bar all around me.

I have managed to clear my airway and have settled into a rhythm on the climb but, glancing at my GPS, it appears my speed has dropped dramatically. Perhaps I’m not as fit as I thought. Surely that can’t be it. Maybe I’ve punctured. I look down at my tyres: they’re fully inflated.

I start to calculate times in my head based on my current speed and the length of the climb, hoping this will take my mind off my increasingly leaden legs. Maybe I set off too fast. I set myself a goal of reaching the big oak tree a few hundred metres ahead. Once there I promise myself a big swig of water as a reward – then remember I don’t have any water.

Finally at the summit, it seems breezier than I had previously noticed and my heart sinks as it dawns on me that my earlier speed was entirely down to tailwind assistance. Suddenly I wonder why I like cycling so much. Battling home in a headwind is not fun but I eventually make it – bedraggled and weak. Moments later I am sitting on the couch, cup of tea in hand, telling my wife and children (who pretend to listen) how much I love cycling. “Anyone can cycle in lovely weather,” I tell them. “But a challenging skirmish in Scottish spring weather is character building.”

If you’re going for a ride it helps to remember some of your kit.