le Grand Départ

I moved to Weston village on the outskirts of Bath. Just at the bottom of Lansdown Lane which leads up to Lansdown… the other side of Bath has Lansdown Road. Imaginative naming there. It goes up to the race course and to where the Civil War battle was fought the Roundheads being based in Bath and using the saints’ heads climbing the ladder up the Abbey as target practice hence why quite a few seem to have no shoulders. I digress as no bikes were involved in the Battle of Lansdown as far as I am aware probably as the hill up there is too steep. Lansdown Lane would give Porlock Hill a run for its money. The Romans apparently founded Bath although I’m sure some folk lived there before a written history was made. The Romans loved it due to natural hot springs, which I learnt to swim in in the Cross Baths but that’s a swimming story so I won’t describe snowy nights swimming in the open air whilst the dads froze their proverbiballs off at the side, and also that it has seven hills as does Rome. From that it would be a fine place for the Giro d’Italia to start with three climbs and descents before a final climb out of Bath. Although there seems to be some debate as to what is a hill and what is a steep road going up to a higher plateau such as Lansdown. If you care to look this up all the hills are named “downs” due to the local parlance. Aptly, the photo is of an Upside Down Man (note arms and legs) depicting the upheavals of the English Civil War and in particular the Roundheads banning Christmas, or at least festivities. Didn’t go down well as you can imagine. And if continued the next chapter wouldn’t have happened…

Prologue

My earliest memory of a bike, or more accurately a trike, is of my lovely pale blue frame (Reynolds 501 I believe) with red disk “track” wheels which were way ahead of their time. Directly driven by the pedals attached to the front wheel. No brakes so my first trendy fixie. I rode that bike all over. Up and down the garden. Forwards and backwards. Different terrains both tarmac and off road (garden path and lawn). Even mixing it up with the flower beds and along the cobbles as can be seen in the photo of me in a Spring Classic. It was chilly so I wore cycling tights and a woollen jersey as did all the professionals back in the 1960s. Smart hard soled cycling shoes too. My main handicap was that my younger sister insisted on me giving her backies around the garden which would’nt’ve cramped my style so much except that she also insisted that we stop to pick up dropped shoes. I doubt if Jacques Anquetil or Beryl Burton had to put up with that nonsense. Anyway, the extra weight certainly ensured my leg muscles were well developed for a 3 year old. At this time I lived in Bridgwater and although not too far from the infamous Porlock Hill (25%) decided against a trip out there partly due to my lack of gearing but mainly as my sister wasn’t allowed to venture more than 10 miles from home. This was the 60s when kids had more freedom to roam but there was a limit. Within a couple of years I moved out of Bridgwater which was a shame as the brilliantly stocked St John St Cycles is based there from which I’ve bought quite a few standard and very non-standard (i.e. not to be found anywhere else) parts through their on-line store.