The best cycling streets in London (Part 4)

I'm really talking about two streets here- The Mall and Horse Guards Road. To be honest, there isn't much reason for you to ride them in succession- if you are coming from Buckingham Palace and heading for Victoria there are far quicker routes. None compare, however, in grandeur. Beginning at the Palace roundabout you can easily turn your back to the building's squat, beige form and face down the Mall. I'm sure it is very impressive, but something about the architectural style has echoes of the Third Reich for me- too heavy, too...bossy. It might be some latent republicanism, but I can't help thinking that no-one needs that many rooms. 

The road that leads away from it is another matter. The proportions are perfect.  In the distance you can see the glorious swoop of Admirality Arch and a tiny glimpse of Trafalgar Square beyond, getting clearer as you pedal. The wide, wide road is lined with flag poles, often colourfully swagged to honour some visiting dignatory or national celebration. It always feels festive. Most pleasingly The Mall cuts right down the edge of elegant St James Park. In spring and summer the colours of the flowers are exuberant and in autumn the same can be said for the turning leaves. Even in winter the skeletal silhouettes of the trees in the frosty river are more bittersweet than bleak.

Once you've enjoyed zooming along the straight, usually empty street, hang a right before you get to the Arch into Horse Guard's Road. This is where the changing of the guard happens once a day. There's a curvalicious bend for you, more grand buildings, some ungainly pelicans in a pond on your right, and if you're lucky a phalanx of men in red uniforms and big furry hats. All in all, a ride that always reminds even un-patriotic me just how odd, but also brilliant, it is to be British.

Image by Trevor Harris

Cycle Tribes: The Irregular Rider

Certain climactic conditions encourage this cycle tribe to come into the open- sunny days and tube strikes being the most obvious. For most of the year the steed of the Irregular Rider remains cooped up, ignored in garages, on balconies, shoved in cupboards and often, shockingly, locked outside in the elements. The Irregular Rider is hyper-sensitive to the inconveniences of cycling. They intend to use their bike more regularly, but if there is the slightest chance of precipitation then of course it is out of the question. The necessity of carrying more than a wallet, keys and a phone also rules out transport by two wheels (the irregular rider doesn't own a backpack or a pannier) as do late nights, early mornings or long lunch breaks. 

An Irregular Rider is easy to spot. If it is a beautiful warm day that has tempted the rider on to the road they will probably be wearing flip-flops. If unpredictable weather strikes the IR will be coatless, if the sun goes down they will have forgotton their lights.

They will be pedalling slowly on a bike that is deeply inappropriate, probably a mountain bike they have owned since a brief obsession at university, or the one they used to cycle round the streets of their home town as a teen. This once loved creature is a pitiful sight- the chain will be rusty, the tyres squidgy. 

These brief forays always remind the IR how fun cycling is, how good it feels to whizz past the traffic jams, to feel the wind on your face and the blood pumping in your limbs. They vow that their bike will no longer be underused, ignored, out of shape. They will pump up the tyres, clean up the chain and buy that backpack-do all the tiny chores that would make this choice easier on an average morning. 

Then they get home, lock up their poor, neglected wheels again and forget. 

When we pass the bikes of Irregular Riders in their snatched moments of freedom Trusty sighs sympathetically, knowing the happiness will be brief. I pat his flanks and promise him never, ever to treat him the same way. 

Bicycle Valet

Last night I went for dinner at a restaurant in Marylebone called Cafe Luc. A very nice PR woman had invited me, via Twitter, to go and check out this country's first Biclycle Valet service. It's a flipping brilliant idea-and one I really hope will catch on. No sooner had I pulled over in front of the chic french awning than a smartly dressed maitre de appeared and whisked Trusty off to a safe parking spot underground. There are very few actual cycle racks in that area (in fact I must request some at the brilliant Cycle Parking 4 London website) and so I would usually have spent a faffy five minutes looking around for a secure bit of metal, not to fat for my lock and not so flimsy as to be breakable. I try not to worry about Trusty being rustled (see here), but it was just lovely to know beyond all doubt that he was safe and sound while I was wined and dined**. Apparently there is space for eight bikes underground, and the manager could "cram a few more in the office if needed", so unless you are going with your local bike club there should be room. The owners of the restaurant, one of which is actually called Luc, are really keen cyclists and as fed up as the rest of us with the dismal cycle rack situation in central London, so decided to be part of the solution.

Bike Valet is pretty established in some of the more cycle-friendly cities in North America (San Francisco and Vancouver especially, both of which strike me as pretty hilly) but a fairly new concept over here.  I think we should all start mentioning it while out for dinner at other establishments. If it was a widespread service it would be one step in tempting more people onto two wheels. I cycled from the meal onto drinks with another friend, and Trusty was distinctly put out to be left chained up on the cold dark street. He does get spoiled fast.

** In case you are wondering about the food, there are lots of restaurant reviews online. I really enjoyed it, but I am not a food reviewer and as the meal was free would feel a bit compromised by bigging it up. Blogalistic ethics, y'see? Tricky.

Cycle Tribes: Pashley Princesses

Helmet? Check! Hat hair? Never!

This particular species of cyclist is a rare sight in autumn. They are evident in our temperate climes in swarms during the balmy summer months, but at the slightest hint of inclement weather they migrate south, deep underground. This is mainly because Pashley Princesses are more about style than practicality. The bikes, for starters, are ever so attractive but also very heavy, gigantic and quite slow. Their rustic wicker baskets hold all manner of goodies, mainly designer handbags, a Sunday paper, leeks, flowers and a baguette from the local organic farmers market. They make such a pretty picture on a clear day, but are fairly useless in a downpour.

PPs also wear clothing that is far from cycle-specific. Flowy skirts that lift tantalising in the breeze and distract the taxi drivers and long wavy hair are the order of the day. Heels are no reason not to ride- and for this we salute you, PPs. These broads are never less than lady-like, using the opportunity of a red light to reapply their lipstick, not to get ahead of the traffic.

In the late spring and early, sunny autumn before the tribe retreats, a light ethnic scarf might be added. It always looks very chic, but I would caution against this. I once ventured out in an ensemble quite close the PP style, with a very, very long scarf. I was half way to my destination when my head was yanked down and headbutted my cross bar. The scarf had got caught in the cogs and cheerfully wound itself around until it nearly garroted me. It must have looked very, very funny. This is one of the reasons that, though I aspire, I will never be a proper PP. Don't have that innate...what do you call it? Grace. 

Image by Dream Dottie

The Glories of Autumn

I just need to wax lyrical about the weather. I know everyone is doing it, but isn't it glorious? I LOVE cycling on days like today. It is cool and breezy enough that you can really pelt it and just get pleasantly warm. The sun on my face warms my skin and fills me with vitamin-D soaked joy. Everyone on the road is nicer, just glad to be out in the air. I think it's just hit the high point of autumn colour too- the trees are blazing but not yet nearly bare. Autumn sun is somehow better than August rays, mellower, an apricot light that makes everything and everyone look rich and layered. I just want to hold it on my tongue like a slow dissolving toffee, or pour it into a heavy tumbler and sip it in a smoke-filled room.

Like the Great Guy said, a few days like this a year would see me right.

Cycle Tribes: Racer Girls

Having written a little about the correlation between appearance and bicycle in the female of the species I thought I'd best expand on one of the tribes I mentioned- the Racer Girls. I include in this category females riding racers, road bikes, single speeds and most especially fixies. The Fixie Girls are in fact the purest expression of this genus, which all members aspire to be. 

Racer Girls wouldn't be seen dead on anything as clunky as a hybrid, or as 'twee' as a Pashley. Edgy is everything. They have adopted the Lycra Lads mantra of reducing air friction, but only as a side effect of a streamlined East End aesthetic. The jeans are tight, the colours are neutral or neon, the hair is short, blunt and (this season) white/grey. Long limbs and the next The xx on their iphone headphones completes the look. And that is it. Sleek, sharp, a little bit scary. No helmet, ever. I have no idea where they store all the crap I seem to need to lug about with me in a fat pannier. Do they never need to change? Surely they do some kind of creative job that requires a MacBook? Obviously they can save room on carrying an actual book by tucking a slim graphic novel in their back pocket, but everyone needs a wallet at least. The lack of baggage never ceases to amaze me.Perhaps the defining feature of a Racer Girl is that they pack light.

Agyness Deyn would be the archetypal Racer Girl, except that she rides a Pashley. I wonder if she knows she's in the wrong tribe?

This woman is clearly the effortless Queen of the Racer Girls. I, reluctantly, have developed a girl crush. 

Cycling for the Soul

I had one of those days recently. You know, the ones that make you want to curl up under your duvet and have a good sob. And then call your mum. And then have a very large glass of red wine to try and flush out the sadness. They don't happen to me very often, and they soon pass, but this one was terribly timed with a long day at work. By the time I left it was fully dark, which didn't help. I was weary and tearful and very tempted to get on the tube and collapse all the way home.

I stood outside the office, bike park to my right, tube station to the left, and dithered. I couldn't face getting suited up, dealing with the locks, all the faff that most days I don't even notice. I turned left and set off, but heard a small internal voice calling me. It was Trusty. It said 'come, let me carry you and your bruised heart home. I will bear your heavy burdens and smooth your path'. 

OK, so it might not have actually been my bike. It might have been another voice, or none at all. But I paused, turned on my heel and went to rescue the steed from a lonely night underground. I suited up, swung my leg over and set off. 

And I confess, I had a little cry. Bikes are a good place to do it, as long as you can still see the road. No-one notices. The repetitive pedalling is very soothing, and there is no where better than a bike to get some brain space or have a little pray. I joined the neon pack at the lights, zoomed round a few good corners, powered up Great Percy Street and by the time I was halfway home my head felt clearer and my heart felt lighter. It may be as simple as endorphins and fresh air, but I believe cycling is good medicine. It doesn't fix the stuff that makes me sad, but it helps me face it better.

And if I sound like some sort of cycling evangelist, well, maybe I am.