Dipping Into the World of Cycling

When you start dating a boy who has ridden bikes his entire life, you get a bike. No question. Chris has ridden motorbikes and BMX forever and has now delved into mountain biking. This is a boy who is most comfortable when atop a saddle (or, in the case of BMX, hovering above a saddle).

I bought a bike. It was green. No, it was celery. It had the boyfriend’s approval. And I loved it instantly. I loved the freedom of being able to travel door-to-door. I loved that I was no longer standing around waiting for public transport to tell me when I could travel. I was energised and enthusiastic.

Melbourne has a large, lycra-clad cycling community. Perhaps no larger than any other city but it’s like when you buy a new car then suddenly you see it everywhere. When I bought my bike suddenly cyclists were everywhere. And so were negative news articles explaining the aggressive, arrogant nature of so many of this new community I had recently joined. This did not sit well with my northern NSW, yoga-practising hippie vibe. As far as I could tell, a percentage of the cycling community was committed to turning a mode of transport into a threatening sport that made others feel inferior.

Suddenly I felt nervous heading out on my celery coloured bike. I was self-conscious that it didn’t cost me $2000 to buy. I was embarrassed I didn’t carry a puncture kit with me (or even know how to use one). I didn’t have the lycra and I felt ill-equipped. It was like a horrible catch 22 where I wanted to get into the community, learn more and buy the lycra but I felt I didn’t know enough about it, or even where to start. I was worried that I’d look like a fraud if I even wore activewear to ride in. I told myself I should ride in “real clothes” so I could be forgiven for being slow and not knowing a thing about bikes. At least that way I wouldn’t be a pretender.

As my bike made a clicking noise on the way home from work one night I pulled over in the dark and looked my bike over. I had no idea what I was looking for but hey, what else was a girl to do? I watched a lycra-clad cyclist approach at high speed and I tried my hardest to sink into the gutter and hide. Then, I heard it. Two words that were about to change my cycling experiences. ”Everything ok?” The lycra-clad cyclist I had been avoiding eye-contact with had slowed down to check I was alright. By this time another passerby had come to my aid so I nodded and on they went, oblivious to my shock and gratitude. Maybe there was a softer side to this community than the newspapers, and my ever-hyperbolic mind, had convinced me.

One weekend, a group of friends and I decided we would ride the 70km from Melbourne to Warburton. I had never before even considered a feat like this and as I wandered through the cycling shop, ego propped up by the fact that there is safety in numbers and I was with friends, I spotted the padded pants section. The padded pants I had seen so many cyclists wear as they sat in cafes throughout Melbourne. The padded pants I had made so much fun of. I pulled them on, looked in the mirror and realised hey, I don’t look as much like I’m wearing a nappy as I thought I would.

We hit the trails that led towards the outskirts of Melbourne. I struggled to the top of a hill, pulled to the side of the trail and found myself amongst a bunch of fellow cyclists who were all huffing and puffing along with me. Ignoring the fact that they were thirty years my senior, I felt camaraderie as we shared our complaints about the hill we had just climbed. I had realised that as soon as I escaped the roads and my tyres hit the trails and bike paths, lycra was still in full swing but so were conversations, advice and the community I had been searching for.

To me cycling is sustainability. It is slowing down in a fast-paced world. It is smart economics. It is saving the environment. It is family outings. It is getting amongst nature. It is nondiscriminatory. It is not reliant on having a 100k salary. So, as you ride around your city, lift your head. Smile. And take notice of those who smile back because it is those who are your tribe. Take comfort in the fact that “cycling doesn’t get easier. You just get faster” and, as such, everyone is doing it tough. You’re in it together.

The moral of the story? Buy the padded pants. Embrace them. Love them. No matter which new sport or hobby you are trying out...commit. Don’t just dip your toe in, jump in, dunk your head under the surface and emerge refreshed, revitalised and a part of your new community.