Cyclogeography by Jon Day

Author:Jon Day [Jon Day]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781910749302
Publisher: New York Review Books
Published: 2016-09-24T16:00:00+00:00

When we hit Oxford Street the pack swerves hard right, round the front of a bus. Its passengers stare through the glass at us as we pass. We’re gone before they grimace. We slalom through the oncoming traffic, against its flow. At the edge of Soho the pack fragments further. Half of us go up Tottenham Court Road. Two riders I don’t know – one on a geared road bike, the other riding a bright blue single-speed – head down New Oxford Street for Bloomsbury. I follow them. It’s a mistake. I don’t quite know where we’re going, but take my turn at the front of the bunch in any case.

At the end of Gray’s Inn Road we run the lights, turn hard right and pedal against the oncoming traffic round the corner, crossing the lanes to face up the hill to attack Pentonville Road. At the checkpoint we catch up with another group of riders who’ve taken the shorter, faster route. We jostle for position, reaching out to grab the slips of paper held out by the marshals. I’m given a scrap of paper with the next checkpoint written on it: Duncan Terrace N1.

It’s a straight run up the Pentonville Road from here, the only col on the circuit, part of the great escarpment that marks the northern edge of the Thames Basin. Standing off the saddle I run the red and push on my pedals, leaning forward into the gradient as I do so. The frame of my bicycle flexes as I lean left and right with each pedal stroke. It gives off quiet clicks and groans.

I’ve caught my legs unawares and they’re perfectly willing for these few short minutes to really work for me. My skin too isn’t up to speed quite yet – I’m dry as a bone, but I’ve invested in the future of my sweat. It’ll come out no matter what I do, so I’ll make the most of this dry patch and just push on up the hill. The Angel is nearly in view as I begin to feel a slight lactic burn in the legs, but it’s nothing to worry about at this stage. Up and down they go, dancing on the pedals. My lungs crack. I grin like a fool.

Near the top of the hill my legs begin to burn. Cramp hits. Cars blur by. Other riders pass me. I reach out and grab hold of a bus lurching up the hill and catch a few stragglers at its brim. At the junction with Upper Street we open up again, stitching a way through the two lines of traffic under a hail of horn-honks and shouted swears.

I’ve started feeling good on the bike now, my legs feel strong and the run up the hill has opened my lungs. The saliva in my mouth has thickened to a paste which I spit out in solid chunks like broken teeth.

A white van forms a perfect shield for my break-away. Comforting clichés of graffiti are written in the dust covering its back window.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.