Well, it seems I was right: the spiritual home of my new bike is the beach. Just spent a very pleasant hour whizzing along, into the teeth of the wind (a very gentle southerly today, to be fair – but I’m sure it would have coped with far stronger – I never needed more than low levels of assistance). The big fat tyres really came into their own. It was low tide, so the sand was nice and firm and wide, so that there was no peril to other beach goers – and there were plenty – slow moving old people, rampaging dogs, wandering toddlers, and mindless scantily clad teens. Great fun.
I was actually thinking of getting rid of the bike a while ago. After all, three ebikes is a little excessive, when it’s only me riding them. A colleague was very keen at one point, and took it for a test ride. She loved the power up the Wellington hills, but she thought the frame was too small, as she kept knocking her knees against the handle bars. Well, here is a photo of me on my bike.
First of all, I apologize for everything that’s awkward about this picture – the shorts, the shoes, the angle – it was a really hard selfie to take (is it a selfie if it’s from your waist down? I suppose so. Wasn’t there a belfie trend a couple of years ago? Ugh – best not to think about it). Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is the distance between my knee and the handle bars. And if anything, I’m perched further forward on the seat than usual. I must say I have never noticed my colleague’s femuromegaly (AKA megafemur) before – it’s amazing what you can hide in theatre scrubs. Well, it’s all worked out for the best, and now I have a bike to use up here for windy days on the beach. Sorted.
The arse ache is real, though, in spite of the comfy seat and padded shorts. I’m a bit nervous because I’m meant to be going on a cycling trip in April, provided we aren’t all dead from coronavirus by then, and a sore bum could really cramp my style. Any advice?