Amuse bouche... Bike Snacks

Is that all you have with you?” Philip asked Tom.

Tom had taken a banana from a pouch on his bike. The banana was a little black from being cooped up in it for the 40km the pair had just cycled.

“Ah no,” Tom told Philip. “I have one of those high-carb gels, as well. And a flapjack Deirdre made.”

“Jesus, Tom, you’re really getting into it now,” said Philip. “A few months ago you thought gel was something you put in your hair. What kind is it?” “Berry, I think,” said Tom. “No,” said Philip. “What brand?”

Tom didn’t know and he wasn’t going to check just because Philip had asked. Philip was brand-mad. He had different gear every time they went out

all acid colours, like he was some sort of racing jockey or something. Tom was still wearing the gear that Deirdre had picked up for him in Lidl when he first started going out with Philip on the bike.

Tom hadn’t wanted to splash any cash on the cycling until he knew if he liked it. He had a fortune in golf clubs and accoutrements in the garage from when he and Philip and the other lads golfed every weekend. Tom had been quite happy with the golf, but one by one all the others had shifted to the cycling, and he had no one to play with.

The cycling was growing on him. He’d even had a look around a few bike shops. The bikes were a fortune, but he had borrowed one from Philip, and hated being beholden. That was even worse than hearing how inferior it was to the new one Philip had, which might as well have had an engine for the money it cost.

Philip had been the same with the golf: always the latest clubs, the latest balls; the gear to optimise your play. He bought a lot of stuff in the States, on business trips, which gave him double-bragging opportunities. Philip had never actually been that good at the golf. He wasn’t great at the cycling, either; Tom was already passing him out on the hills, even if Philip’s shorts had an arse so padded it was nearly comical. Overcompensating, Deirdre called Philip’s big talk.

“I got these in London,” Philip said, waving a bar with a brightly coloured wrapper at Tom. “You can’t get them over here. They’re by that young one on the internet, the clean-eater. I like to be able to see the carb load on the wrapper. The scientific approach to refuelling. You’re only guessing with the oul’ banana.”

“Deirdre put dates and quinoa in the flapjacks,” said Tom. “For the glycogen depletion, you know.”

“Jesus, Tom,” said Philip. “Glycogen, is it? You’ll be buying your own bike next.”

“I will,” answered Tom. “I really will.”