Another one shot passed me, hunched over his handle bars, dressed in garish tight lycra. I could feel the disdain directed towards me s he accelerated away.
Think of the positives: the fresh air; the exercise; helping the environment; saving money on petrol; avoiding the traffic congestion.
It all started with the building of a new bridge over the river, connecting cycle routes on either bank, which meant I could get to and from work without having to endanger myself on a major road.
I hadn’t anticipated the poor state of the cycle routes, which included sharing pavements with annoyed pedestrians and avoiding pot-holes, lampposts and bus shelters.
In the fifteen years since I had last regularly cycled, things had changed. Now everyone sped around on racing bikes like they were on their own Tour de France.
I pottered along at a snail’s pace with the constant ringing of bells from behind as I shuffled over to the side to let another speedster through.
The morning commute was enjoyable enough. It was mainly downhill. The worst was still to come: the climb back up the hill to get home again.
Hopefully it’ll be raining tomorrow. Then I can take the car.
Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit HERE. For a change, this story is autobiographical as I have recently started cycling to and from my work.
To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.