An unexpected afternoon
Wednesday afternoon, and I suddenly find myself with some free time.
I’ve been on an in-house course for two days, and it’s very much about self-improvement - so Jane, the HR manager running things, insists that we all take the rest of the afternoon to ourselves when we finish early.
Who am I to argue.
So I head home. It’s been a few days since I’ve been out, and then it was my first time out in weeks, so I figure I should take it easy. But not that easy. I need to get my mileage up.
On with the white fun-run t-shirt, shorts, helmet and iPod, and dialling in Franz Ferdinand as I hit the road. I weave in and out of the North Laines, doing my usual route… and then a set of roadworks I hadn’t seen before force me down onto North Street. I’ve done it before, so I weave through the traffic and onto the Steine.
I’ve started to be a bit more lax, shall we say, about watching out for traffic lights. I mean, I still see them, I’m just less concerned about stopping for them… especially if they’re just changing. So I pass through the first set on orange, and the second set that I hit, I know I’m going through just on red. So does the car in the box junction, starting to turn to cross me, just as I pass by. I get my first sustained horn, mutter “I deserved that…” and keep pedalling. The lights just before the pier, though? Those I stop for.
Ever since my very first ride when I got corralled, I’ve been wary of the roundabout in front of the pier. With three major roads coming into it, and the sea right in front of you, anyone new to Brighton is suddenly confronted with a choice. Choice means confusion. And that means vehicles moving around a big circle, thinking of everything except cyclists.
That’s why unless it’s quiet, I’m veering left for safety - which I did, then pulled up at the first lights to cross. I’m starting to realise if you’re going to get anywhere on a bike, you’ve got to treat yourself as a vehicle/human hybrid (which, duh, you are) and go where either can go. Zip, over the road, along the pavement and back onto Madeira Drive.
I’ve really grown to like Madeira Drive a lot over the last couple of months. It’s plenty wide, so you never really get boxed in; it’s generally pretty quiet; and every now and again the ‘traffic calming’ measures give you interesting choices (either weave around, or thread through the big… uhh… flower-pots in the middle of the road). Flat and smooth too, so you can get up a reasonable lick of speed if the wind’s right.
In go the earphones and on goes the music. The chain’s clicking a bit and I think I might be due for a service soon, but we’re all good to go, so I push a bit harder as I get past the ‘official’ end of the drive, and out onto the longer stretch towards the Marina. I’m not too conscious that the wind’s blowing into my face.
I feel like I’m getting up a good head of steam, and keep pushing right until I get to the car-park next to the Sand Sculpture exhibition. I pull over, just intending to stop for a second and swig some water, but as I sit there I start to feel kind of weird. The music’s fading out of my ears, and I can hear some sort of high-pitched buzzing. I pull my earphones out and it’s like the soundtrack to my world fades away. I feel a little light-headed, but not like I’m going to faint; and for a second I think “This would be embarrassing, to collapse right here…” but then I feel okay again.
It shakes me, though. I give it a few minutes, stupidly aware of the people passing by and how I don’t want to look like I’m in trouble. I breath normally, and I start to get a bit of a headache. Was I pedalling that hard? It didn’t feel that bad. But then I realise I was going into the wind, so perhaps I was exerting myself a lot more fora speed I could usually attain easily. And I’ve hardly been exerting myself recently. Putting it down to experience I pedal off towards the Marina.
Through the glamorous Asda car park, and out through the seaside apartments that I can only look at and wonder how the hell they afford the mortgage. I know where I’m going this time; previous rides let me explore the East Jetty, as I think it’s called, and that’s where I’m headed. Unlike the last time I rode here it’s incredibly quiet, but that’s just how I like it.
Still taking it nice and slow, with the headache subsiding, I pedal onto the jetty, admiring the sea and noticing the odd fisherman on the sea-side, to my lower-left. A Wednesday afternoon spent fishing; either they have very reasonable employers like I do, or there’s a different life out here.
In the inlet (harbour?) to my right I see a small motorboat - no more than a dinghy, really - with a lifejacketed kid and father piloting. A yacht’s up ahead with four crew, looking like they’re on a pleasure cruise. I pass both, partially through the benefits of geography (less distance to travel for me) and partially through pedal power, and pull up at the end of the jetty, where I’m reminded of their strict ‘No fishing’ policy. I guess yachting types don’t like getting fish hooks in their hulls.
The end of the jetty is a great place to stop awhile, and I recommend it highly. Two studenty-types are sitting there themselves, chatting, while I refuel with some liquids and watch boats go by. The father-and-son motorboat seem to disappear down some sidestream, but the yacht passes me just as another comes on in. I wonder if I’ll ever know anyone with a yacht, and then remember I do - my ultimate boss. Better work on that invite. Especially as it’s moored in the Caribbean.
Saddling up again I debate switching to a podcast, decide not to bother, and cue up New Miserable Experience by the Gin Blossoms, the only album of theirs I own. It’s jaunty enough to take me back along the jetty, where I find I’ve been joined by some walkers oblivious to my approach - ding-ding! As I head towards them I look to the cliffs in the distance, and notice figures on the Undercliff Walk. As it’s been recommended to me I impulsively cut right, narrowly avoiding a kid on a bike, and zip down a shortcut I’ve never seen before.
My course has been teaching me the value of appreciation, so after ringing my bell to shift a couple of walkers in front of me, I give them a loud “Thank you!” on the way past. A quick dismount down some stairs - damn those town planners - and I mount up with the glorious open Undercliff Walk in front of me, stretching to the horizon.
This is one great bike route, people.
Wide, wide path for one thing, newly paved so it’s totally flat. Sea on the right. Cliff on the left - right there, which is great as you can study it as you go by. I did as I pulled away, looking at the ancient rock. There were a couple of bikers ahead of me, a couple of walkers, but generally I was free and clear; two miles to Rottingdean.
Not sure whether it was the cliff or what, but the wind I’d been puffing into was gone, and I picked up speed easy. The sun beams on my back, and at one point I turn and look at the view… which just takes my breath away. I mean sure, it’s just the Marina (and the ugly side of it, to boot) but with the sun hitting the sea, the waves crashing… it makes me very, very glad to be there.
Bigger bonus on the way, back too; it turns out the Undercliff Walk has finally been connected to the rest of the Marina, and that means I can finally cut out the Asda car park experience from my Marina rides.
Back to the pier, down past Hove Lawns, a 180 turn and I’m heading home again. An unexpected afternoon off, a new route, and 12 or so miles clocked… good stuff.
