I used to cycle, in the days when it was just a thing normal human beings did, but I apparently missed the memo that went around to all the middle-aged men of my acquaintance saying that when we turned 40 we’d buy expensive road bikes and tear around Box Hill in fetish wear shouting “Smash it!” to each other.
Once, cycling held out the promise of being a universal human activity. When George Orwell wanted to evoke the spirit of eternal Britain, he spoke of “old maids biking to Holy C… (View original article)