Freakshow

Just when I think that road cycling has truly entered the mainstream, something always happens to remind me of the uncomfortable truth -- we are freaks, unwelcome in polite society.

As the school holidays come closer, there's been a series of social events connected to my youngest son's school -- including a Saturday afternoon picnic.  I'd negotiated with Mrs Flandrian that I could go the picnic with them, spend a respectable time socialising, then disappear on a training ride for an hour or so.

So I rolled up -- on my Casati, in racing kit.   These are people who are used to seeing me with a bike and wearing bike gear -- I've hardly been hiding my velo-obsessiveness in a closet for the past four years -- but the reactions varied from the astonished to the faintly hostile.  I would have attracted less attention if I'd turned up in a tutu and wellingtons.

One mother puzzled for several minutes over the fact that I was riding for pleasure, i.e that I wasn't actually going anywhere or doing anything "useful", simply riding for the sake of it.  She recounted with horror the habits of a strange friend who "gets up every Sunday morning, rides to Richmond Park, goes two or three times round it and then comes home again" as if there was something deeply suspicious in his behaviour.  

"You probably know him", she said in a disapproving tone.  I had to explain that I don't know, personally, every one of the several hundred London riders who regularly use the capital's most cycling-friendly open space.  

When I turned up at a party with many of the same people that evening, my bizarre clothing and activities were still the subject of ridicule and debate.  One of the younger mothers had, apparently, been making frank, lewd and largely positive remarks about my calves, which was at least cheering - if a little weird.  While not quite the horror-show of a Hincapie or a Kelly, my calves are still sufficiently knobbly and riddled with varicose veins to scare small children.

And this is in a class where at least five other Dads are regular cyclists, one has completed the Etape, one London-to-Paris and another the Nueve Colli.   

What more do we have to do before we're regarded as normal?  Although, to be honest, is that what we really want?