The Strange, Eventful History of Bicycles and Me

I can't really remember a time when I wasn't afraid of bicycles.

Perhaps it began when my parents made an inept attempt to force me to learn to ride a bicycle (when I was about 8 or 9 years old: rather too late! )... using my brother's. My brother is nearly 7 years older than me: his bicycle was enormous: my feet could barely reach the pedals; there was no way I could hope to balance on the bloody thing. I tried to sit on it; fell off; tried again; fell off again; tried again; fell off again; gave up.... forever.

By that time, we had moved to Monmouth, a small, rather hilly town on the Welsh border. We lived at the top of a particularly big, particularly steep hill - so, there really wasn't much of an incentive to try to ride a bike anywhere (that may have been why my brother had abandoned his).

About the same time, I recall being terrorized for a week or so by a gang of much older boys, who would hang around outside my school threatening to beat me up - apparently because they had taken umbrage at my innocent remark to them that it must be quite hard work pushing their bikes up the (monstrously steep) hill.

A few years later, in my early teens, I was actually THROWN by a bicycle... when I wasn't even riding it. It was then that I realised just how vicious these beasts could be. My parents had hired bicycles so that we could more easily (hah!!) get around a Scottish island (Eigg, I think it was) we were visiting for a few days. I tried riding mine a few times; fell off; remembered my earlier painful experience; and gave up. For some reason, I ended up pushing it to quite a lot of places (perhaps my parents slyly thought that, if I took the bike with me everywhere we went, I might feel moved to try to ride it home again afterwards). I gave that up after the vicious bronco incident. We were walking across a bumpy field (and god knows, I found it hard enough to push the damn thing in a straight line even on a metalled road): the bicycle - displaying a malevolent mind of its own - twisted its handlebars out of my grip, and made a beeline for a deep pothole just in front of us; simultaneously (it really did seem like one of those elaborately orchestrated 'accidents' in the 'Omen' films), the bottom of my trouser-leg became hopelessly entangled in the pedal.... so, I was left without a leg to stand on (or with only one, which was not enough) as the bicycle veered suddenly across in front of me and pitched downward into the hole.... and I went flying over the handlebars, to land heavily on my face. I suppose I'm lucky it was such a muddy field: that softened the fall, and prevented serious injury - other than to my pride. How my parents laughed!!

I have viewed bicycles with loathing and distrust ever since that day (if not before).

There has been no shortage of incidents since to confirm me in this view. Perhaps the only time that I have really given much thought to trying to conquer my phobia was when I started as an undergraduate at Oxford - Oxford is, after all, a 'city of bicycles': fairly flat, an ideal size, and an early pioneer of bicycle paths. A sizeable proportion of the students there favour bicycles as their primary means of transportation. I was very seriously considering buying a cheap bicycle in my first year, but... one of my friends, almost as bicycle-challenged as me, had taken the brave plunge more quickly, and... one day he came into the Dining Hall covered in cuts and bruises, his arm in a sling.
"Christ, Hugh, what happened to you? Were you in a fight?"
"No, I had an accident on the bike."
"What?! Did a car hit you?"
"No. I... er... just sort of lost my balance and fell off."
He and I both gave up on the bicycle idea after that.

I did briefly contemplate another attempt to overcome my demons at the beginning of my second year, but.... my new best friend among that year's Freshers had his bike stolen within an hour of buying it.... and decided it would be easier to walk everywhere. I took that as a sign (I didn't need much persuading by that point).

I still revisit this issue from time to time, but increasingly half-heartedly with each passing year. I don't think you'll ever see me on a bicycle now.

I referred to my distaste for the vile bicycle as a 'phobia' just now, but I don't think that's really the appropriate term. As I've outlined above, I believe it is an entirely rational, entirely justified fear. Bicycles are - as I suggested yesterday - animate entities (or at least, their behaviour suggests that they are). And they are evil (or at least....). It is entirely rational to be afraid of tigers, Black Mambas, and Great White Sharks. It is entirely rational to be afraid of bicycles.

Such, at least, is my contention.


"So, we may now please to begin, yes?"