Middle Class cycling

I am a keen middle class cyclist. What this means is, that I paid not too much for my bike but it had to be new, not second hand; I don't know too much about how to look after it but I do know of a shop a few miles away that does a damn good annual service; I paid a lot of money for rubber tubes to be put in my tyres so I wouldn't have to worry about punctures; I only cycle when it is not raining, though I am not averse to the cold or the wind, indeed cycling in such conditions makes me feel smug, especially when I sail past traffic, unlike when it rains and I just feel very stupid and have to restrain myself from flinging my rubber-tubed bike over the nearest privet hedge and thumbing a lift. Being a middle class cyclist also means that I force my kids to cycle with me at weekends. And let's be clear about this, I am absolutely conforming to type by doing this. If I did not know this for sure, it only needs a test run along the Open Space path which runs through North London to confirm it. I park myself by a section of brook and while my kids make a swing out of abandoned rope and a hopefully solid looking tree, I people watch. It is a guarantee that if I see a kid cycle by, within seconds he will be followed first by his father. Then by a younger kid. Then by his Mother. If it is a girl, the bike and its accessories will all be pink. If it is a boy, he will be wearing a football shirt, whereas his father will be wearing lycra and his Mother will be dressed in a mix of White Stuff and Fat Face clothing. I abhor Fat Face. It screams middle class urban Mum Who Holidays In Seaton, in the same way, unfortunately,as boden clothes do. And in North London, cycling Mums wear this stuff to project the message that they are not serious cyclists, indeed they would far rather be playing tennis at the private club a few blocks away, but they believe in the importance of Quality Time, and since the little buggers won't be shifted from the Playstation by any other means, cycling it will have to be. Followed by a large gin and tonic. For myself, I enjoy cycling, partly out of fear - in the same way that I never really mastered the roundabout when learning to drive, I never actually took cycling lessons and therefore wobble at the first sign of uncertainty, usually triggered by the need to turn right into oncoming traffic, although I have no problem responding to anti-cyclist road rage even if it means taking both hands off the cycle bar, which I think is encouraging for my self confidence as a cyclist. I  enjoy cycling for the physiotherapy challenge - I am still working hard at physiotherapy, and am utterly lost in admiration watching the cycling in both the Olympics and the Paralympics. It is all I can do to cycle up one hill before having to stop, drink half my water and stretch my calves. Rehabilitation of any kind is a huge  challenge if you take it seriously so I can only begin to imagine what paralympic athletes have put themselves through. I consider myself determined - I put myself ona  bicycle a week after I came off crutches and proceeded to crash instantly and ingloriously to the ground, since my new foot had no idea of gravity, no strength, and was suffering a huge identity crisis after its surgery. Two days later I was back on it, again, again and again, until one day passed when I climbed on and managed to stay on for the length of a street. Oh what a brave person am I. But this is a shadow of the killing effort athletes have to rise to. But mostly I enjoy it for the way it makes me feel when NHS ads exhorting parents to tackle child obesity come on TV. Every cycle trip with my kids involves at least half an hour of shouting, cajoling and bargaining, even blackmailing - first to actually get on the bike, then to wear a helmet, then to cycle a bit further than just the end of our street - but bit by bit, we have built up our routine and now we get some miles under our belts. We come back, pig out on Magnum ice creams, and I feel like a Much Better Parent. It is a middle class win win.