Never wear a jumpsuit when cycling. If you take nothing else from this column, please let that be your one lesson.
This especially applies if you’re getting on a bike for the first time since you were 12. Chances are all you’ll worry about then is whether or not you can still remember how to cycle. Turns out riding a bike is just like, er... riding a bike. You never forget how to do it.
What you won’t have taken into account back when you were 12, out cycling with your friends for hours on end, hair blowing in the wind and with energy levels barely imaginable now, is your posterior. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was those energetic and eager-to-get-moving legs that saw you stand sometimes as you pedalled. Or maybe it was simply the muscle density of youth. Whatever it was, trust me now, if you are going to cycle 13km along the Limerick Greenway as an adult on a bike for the first time since childhood, then your arse is going to need padding. And jumpsuits just won’t cut it.
And if, like me, you’re planning to cycle the greenway with the family on a beautiful summer’s day, don’t forget the suncream or the water. A given you might think – it’s amazing how distracted you can be from the given when you’re wondering if you can remember how to make the wheels go round and balance at the same time.
And so it came to pass that the family, made up of experienced cyclists, middle of the road ones, and I, set off to travel the greenway, safe in the knowledge that passing cars would not be a danger. There was much enthusiasm about getting on the bikes, even if one refused point blank to adjust his saddle to make pedalling that bit easier. No harm, I figured – a little bit of extra physical exertion for the inexhaustible, and off we went.
Turns out there’s nothing like an inexperienced mammy on a bike to set the parent-child role reversal in motion. “Will the kids be able for the long cycle?” I pondered in advance. “Will Mammy make it the whole way there or collapse in an uncoordinated heap en route?” they clearly wondered, but didn’t dare say. Instead it was obvious from their actions. “You okay, Mum?” one asked repeatedly along the way. “I’ll cycle behind you,” another younger child offered. “That way you won’t get lost.”
“It’s just straight, love,” I replied. “Even I can’t get lost here.”
The irony of those I had taught to ride a bike worrying that I might not actually be able to ride a bike was not lost on me. Still, it probably points to the fact that I usually leave this sort of craic to their dad, trying to grab moments where they’ve headed off to do fun stuff, to perhaps work or maybe even tackle the never-ending laundry. Like those perennial social media posts to mums to “get in the photos, don’t just take them”, I was reminded that this went beyond taking pictures of memories, and instead being part of those memories.
It was hot. As we cycled in convoy waving and calling “hello” to all we passed, I resisted the urge to also call out, “first time on a bike since I was 12” to random strangers (sure they’d probably already guessed that from the jumpsuit anyway). With the greenway stretching ahead and the sun splitting the stones, I tried to estimate how much of the 13km journey we had covered. Judging by the sweat levels and some general discomfort, I figured we must be nearly at our destination. “We’ve easily done 10 or 11km,” I thought. A sign, and therefore clarification, was just ahead. “Barnagh 8km,” it read.
“We’ve only done 5km!” I said in disbelief. “This is so much fun,” said one small child with a tendency to cycle on ahead and then double back for the craic.
Perhaps it was just unrealistic expectations on my part, but once I got over the shock of clearly having no ability to accurately estimate or gauge distance, I settled into the cycle. There’s nothing quite like the joy in finding an activity that suits all the family, which is never an easy task when you’ve an age spread that’s as vast as mine.
The weather was still glorious when we arrived at Barnagh. Some of us were more impressed by our accomplishments than others, but then again no one else had the jelly legs of inexperience to contend with.
I’m a convert now. Yes she, who is no fan of unnecessary exercise, can’t wait to do it again. “Get on yer bike” may be my new motto – just never in a jumpsuit.