This was originally posted 12 years ago. Opinions, facts and reality may have changed.
You may have heard the Tour de France begins, obviously, in Leeds this year; passing through Harrogate, York, Skipton, Keighley, Huddersfield and Sheffield, amongst many other places.
I’m fortunate to live within a few hundred yards of the route. Even if I wasn’t aware of this fact, the sudden appearance of “Tour de France camp site” advertising banners every two hundred yards on the main roads the Tour will be travelling upon would be enough to alert me. Every farmer’s field within 5 miles of the route appears to have “magically” become a tourist vacation spot within the past six months. And who can blame them, it’s a chance to earn a few quid.
Earlier this year I decided to face-up to my lack of fitness and, well, do something about it. Running and I didn’t get on; 20 years of sitting behind a desk meant my knees weren’t happy to suddenly find themselves called into action, and repeatedly required to act as shock absorbers between myself and the unyielding road. So, yes, I decided to give cycling a go.
Which is fine, lots of people over 40 cycle on a regular basis.
But not all of them live on the Tour de France route, refuse to wear Lycra on the grounds of taste and decency, and haven’t pedalled for about 30 years. Possibly more of them should take heed of my Lycra rules.
At times it’s as though cycling was about to be made illegal and dozens of people wanted to get a last few miles in before the ban. As I cycle the roads surrounding Holmfirth – no matter what the time of day – I’m forever encountering groups of men (it’s always men) clad in Lycra, accessorised up to the eyeballs and with a determined look on their faces.
And they see me in my flappy shorts, baggy t-shirt and hoody… and they look down on me. They regard me with something verging on disdain, as if my lack of “proper attire” somehow makes me less of a serious cyclist. Which, in many ways I suppose it does. But for me, getting out on my bike (however I may be dressed), is the important bit. I don’t measure success in who can utilise the smallest possible amount of man-made materials to “clothe” themselves whilst cycling.
So, they may occasionally pass me as I tootle around. They may believe they’re a part of the Tour in some small way. They may compare times for scaling Holme Moss. And they may have spent £1000s on their bike, Lycra and GPS positioning systems. But me, on my simple road bike, dressed as though ready for a kick-about in the park, actually getting out is the important bit. Leaving my laptop behind, grabbing a bottle of water and disappearing for a couple of hours. Sheer bliss.
In the past couple of weeks I’ve managed to cover in excess of 100 miles. And, long after the Tour has left the area, and the Lycra mob find somewhere else to visit, I’ll still be tootling along.
I might buy some new shorts though. They are a little too flappy.