CAPE CRUSADER
A big break off the bike reveals Norman's age-related decline
I recently spent about eight weeks in South Africa, based mainly in and around Stellenbosch, a university town in the Western Cape. The whole idea was to get away from the cold and dark of the English winter. Although I did my daily exercises, I did not get on a bike. South Africa, in my experience, is a not very cycle-friendly place. The quieter roads do not have hard shoulders and, as they are only two lanes wide, there is a constant dicing with cars for road space.
Anyway, this meant that it was in the first week of March, when I was back at home, that I managed that first ride of the year. I am a fair-weather cyclist at this stage of life and the sun had appeared after a long period of hide and seek. Living in the middle of the North Downs I, as usual, had to climb up before descending into Kent. I did not go too far, about a 55km round trip to my favourite cake shop that lies on the outskirts of Horley. A large slice of lemon drizzle and an Americano, if you’re interested. I felt fine but noticed my average speed had been a lowly 14km/h – well below my rate before I took the break in South Africa. I did, however, find it satisfying that I had neither aches nor pains. I do exercises every morning and was pleased that my chosen group of exercises had at least kept my cycling muscles up to scratch.
In front of me, as usual, was that hill on the North Downs that I have been using as a marker of my cycling decline over the years and which I’ve written about before. It climbs virtually straight up the Downs. There is no part that follows contours like one gets on Box Hill. Contour riding is a doddle. I managed about half way up before running out of puff. I dismounted and trudged my way up the rest of the hill feeling very sorry for myself. It was no consolation to remind myself that I’d had longer breaks from cycling but had always managed to make my way to the top of this climb.
While walking up the hill, I had time for much thinking. Okay, I clearly was not as cycle fit as I was before the break. What was the difference between then and now? Well, I had had my 86th birthday and was now well into my 87th year. So, a break of about six months of cycling had brought about quite a change. ‘Six months!’ you exclaim, ‘that’s hardly any time at all!’ Look at it from my point of view, though. If I’m kind to myself, I reckon I can give myself about another three years of fairly long-distance cycling, which makes six months about a sixth of my remaining cycling time. That is a fairly large chunk of time. Do not forget that, as we age, our performance time begins to drop at an ever increasing rate as we enter our late seventies and early eighties. The curve showing performance times in Masters cyclists changes from a straight-line declining slope to a more precipitous drop as age advances. This decline is well documented and has been described for running, cycling and swimming masters, and something I can certainly attest to anecdotally.
Of course, I will go out in the coming summer more regularly in order to explore all those reasons that keep me on my bike, which continue to be numerous. A very pleasing side effect to my enjoyment is that I will be building time on my bike. I cycle primarily for enjoyment. But here’s the rub. I cannot ever be at the same level I was last year. My 86-year-old body cannot be better than my 85-year-old body. When I did the London to Brighton cycle ride last year, which I’ve written about at length previously, I was pretty much as good as I was going to get for my age. As I have constantly banged on about, one cannot beat the effects of ageing by increasing intensity of physical activity. At these advanced ages it’s just not going to happen.
When I have a few more kilometres on the clock I will give the hill another go. If I fail again I guess I will have to adopt my fall-back position of going around the Downs, which is a real bore, or just become philosophical and decide that walking up half the hill might not be too bad. As I have previously remarked in this column, getting off and turning around to admire the view of Kent cannot be such a bad thing. I enjoy my cycling too much to give up. Within the narrowing confines of my continually decreasing cycling horizons, there is still much joy to be mined. Watch this space.