B is for BICYCLE

My first experience of a bicycle ride was from slightly removed from the handlebars - a red seat fixed to the rear of my mother's old black bike. I don't remember much more than being brought home from school in the early years and I guess with at least four large inclines to negotiate on the way, it must have tested her mental and physical durability, especially with a few extra kilos on behind. Even when she dismounted and walked up the odd hill, I don't recall being taken out of the red seat so I really wasn't much help at all.

I only ever owned two bikes. The first, probably bought out of necessity, when I became old enough to make the journey to and from school as the pilot rather than the passenger, was a simple enough affair. Not a full sized vehicle by any means, but with all the necessary equipment to make one proud to be its owner. Rounded handlebars, a bell and of course a crossbar that separated the boys from the girls. To the uninitiated eye, like mine, it was perfect and it fulfilled its purpose day after day as I pedalled the well worn track from home to school and back, a shattering distance of one and a half miles. Except of course on the days when dad 'threw' ( and I don't use that word lightly) my two wheeler into the boot of the car and 'banged' ( I wish he had done that more lightly) down the lid of his Morris Oxford. It eventually settled on my blue crossbar with artistic effect and a certain amount of random engraving. I reckoned it was a fair price to pay, however, to avoid the scourge of McDowell's Hill at eight thirty on a winter morning.

They say everything comes around in cycles but sometime after graduating from primary school, I found my legs longer than the bike intended them to be and with Christmas fast approaching, my request list would be short and sweet and very cyclical! My new Raleigh (supposed to be the Mercedes of bicycles) got off to a bad start. Snow fell on Christmas Eve and for much of the following morning so all practice sessions had to be cancelled, though I did manage a rather precarious attempt to remain upright in the melting slush late on Christmas Day. Still, the bike was there the following morning so there was no immediate rush except that childhood impatience is not always easily quenched. I had however, now moved to a full size machine, complete with off-white rimmed tyres, a bell, which I would learn how to take apart early in my cycling career and a three speed gear system that was operated by twisting the right handlebar grip, akin to the accelerator on a motor bike. During my ownership, this machine served no useful purpose apart from the pursuit of leisure and females who were happy to rest on the crossbar for a free lift home and I always 'grudgingly' obliged! It was this bike that took me far from home on tours with my neighbour, Tom, though in effect we were never more than five miles from the front door and during its lifetime was fitted with a variety of attachments, some fashionable, others helpful but none absolutely necessary and these included a speedometer, a mileometer, radio, bells and horns, battery lights, reflectors, saddlebag, drinking bottle and even a mirror or two. All of them worked for a season but were eventually discarded, like the bike itself, when a less exhausting mode of transport came within my age-related reach.

Since those heady days of cycledom, my only two serious encounters with the two wheeler have been, ironically, in France, home of Le Tour. First in the wild forests around Chambord chateau in the Loire valley, on a hot June afternoon, along with about sixty other people of varying ages, abilities and stamina as our school joined with Dutch children and our French hosts to discover that cycling in another language is no different.More recently, on the shores of Lake Annecy, I again remembered the freedom of the bicycle with wife as we nonchalantly pedalled southwards along a former railway track, now cycle path in pursuit of nothing more than fresh air, scenery and the simple things in life. It was a time to view God's wonderful creation and the chance to be a child all over again.

In this age of fast-paced living, we need sometimes to 'get on the bicycle' and see things from a slower and different perspective where life is no more complicated than choosing the correct gear and making time to take in the view. And the view is not bad at all for it reminds me constantly of a creator who was meticulous in His design and unerringly accurate in his construction. It really is that simple.Seeing the world from a child's eyes again without the judgements and cynicism of adulthood. And seeing God as He wants us to see Him, without all the attachments and rules that often hide His true person from us. As Jesus said 'unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.' Time to start pedalling!