One of the greatest regrets in my life has been that I didn’t know how to ride a bicycle. Until this summer — that is. I wasn’t even considering it, having capitulated to the thought that no one can learn to ride once he or she crosses 35!
So, I arrived in London and was immediately taken aback by how hot it was. Everywhere I looked there were flushed cheeks and people eating ice-creams or riding bicycles. Having more than my fair share of ice-lollies, I walked around town, wishing in my heart, if only I knew cycling, life would be so much easier.
One evening, while lounging around, watching some food show on telly, my cousin asked me to accompany him to Stratford in East London. Site of the 2012 Summer Olympics, Stratford’s Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park was the principal venue for the games. Subsequently the West Ham United F.C. moved to the London Olympic Stadium. After a quick Tube ride, we were in Stratford. Heading straight to a bike docking station, he hired two bikes for £2 (Dh9.34) each. I looked at him with a mix of embarrassment and anticipation.
“So, you don’t know how to ride?” my cousin asked. “Not a worry, I will get you moving in no time,” he remarked with such confidence that I felt my inhibitions melting away in the London heat.
Next, I was seated on the Santander bike, struggling with the handle. I could pedal away all right, but found it hard to maintain balance. In my mind (the great repository of all our fears and forebodings), I felt that I might fall off. Sensing my jitters, my cousin parked his bike. “You are pedalling away fine, but need to focus on the balance. Go on, I am holding your bike from behind. Try to maintain an equilibrium and move.”
Assured that he was watching my back (and holding the bicycle from behind), I trundled on. It felt exhilarating. Pedalling on, I rode around for a few minutes. It was then that I realised that I had been riding on my own all along! Somewhere along the track, my cousin had stopped holding the bike. He had held it initially (for a few minutes) and then pretended to run alongside, without actually lending any support. “It is all in your head. You have been riding for the last 10 minutes without my support,” he said. To maintain balance, one must keep moving. That, I reckon, was the lesson I needed. Realising that I was practically on my own, I fumbled a few times, but managed to keep the balance and rode in short, four to five-minute spurts.
As we continued to cycle, I began to feel more confident, applied the brakes less often and looked ahead with a newfound freedom. Next time we came to Stratford, I went ahead and undocked a bike, riding it more comfortably. My cousin cycled calmly behind me, with the grace of a sage.
While biking around the Olympic Park, I could now take in the sights: the greenery and the quietly flowing river jutting alongside the northern section. Gliding along the vast pedestrian pathways, I noticed garden-type planting and children’s play areas, wooden benches and summer birds perched on some of them. The modern buildings of Canary Wharf shimmered in a distance. Suddenly it felt liberating.
A bicycle surely has a soul, which you cannot help but love. I wish I had known cycling earlier, but it is never too late to pick up a new skill. We returned our bikes to the docking station.
Over the next week-and-a-half, I cycled off-and-on whenever I had the time. Although it was unusually hot in London (the heat wave in the United Kingdom has been relentless this summer), I loved my bicycle rendezvous. Upon my return to Dubai, someone remarked recently that I had got a tan. A little price, perhaps, to pay for discovering the joy of riding.
