In 2025, I thought a lot about

Two years ago on a blustery Sunday morning in November, I went to a concrete patch opposite the BMX track in Burgess Park and did the best thing I ever did. I learned how to ride a bike. 

My instructor reminded me of my uncle – kind and stern. From the moment he told me to look ahead and push off, I never looked back. Two hours later, the joy of wobbling around in circles of eight was a euphoria higher than the best nights out. 

I can do this. I'm doing it. I did it. 

I was hooked. 

Back then, my only goal was to cycle a flat 20-minute route with minimal elevation to Borough Market on a Saturday morning for a coffee. I didn’t know I’d end up planning cycling routes in Anglessey or riding 50km with 1000m elevation on a cycling holiday in Mallorca. No one warned me about this parallel universe that existed on two wheels.

On my first solo ride, I couldn't stop grinning. A couple of years on, I still catch myself smiling every time I'm on my bike. Maybe the feeling of being free and a sense of adventure were missing from my life. 

Slowly, ride by ride, being in control of 2 wheels has helped me to discover something special in the everyday and relax into the mundane. 

Now, even the smallest things like going to the shops becomes an adventure.

Sometimes, in a single ride, I feel the full spectrum of human emotions:

The excitement and self doubt at the start – can I actually do this? 

The struggle on the big hill – Oh God, what was I thinking? 

The pure thrill on the downhill – I’m freeeeeee!

The mid-ride bonk – I’m never cycling ever again. 

The fragile determination – Gotta keep moving. There’s only one way home.  

And finally, the disbelief on the last corner home – Fuck, I can’t believe I did that.

Then there are moments where I fall into the motion of pedalling, and the world seems to sparkle – like in a dreamlike state of being. 

Riding around the city. A cute coffee shop here, red buses there. Oh and that’s Big Ben. Going over the bridges pretending to be Bridget Jones on a bike. Tall shiny buildings and tight corners. The potholes. The traffic. The rush.  

Riding down Peckham’s Rye Lane is a full body experience. The buzz. The sunshine. A bit of reggae. The smell of jerk chicken from the stall. Shaking my head when people walk into the road without looking. Smiling at the ever-changing wildflower meadow in Burgess Park. 

Then there’s riding on a Lime bike. Airpods in one ear. Big coat. Big scarf. Sunglasses on. Off to the pub. The sea of pay-per-minute E-bikes parked outside Skehans looking over the city skyline.

Maybe me and cycling were meant to be: I had the kit, I lived close to the city with good bike lanes, and my partner is a skilled cyclist. 

These things have meant riding little and often has been relatively low effort, which helps. But I’ve coaxed myself into going on lots of different rides and trying various types of bikes which has helped even more.

There’s nothing more humbling than doing something really badly and failing as an adult. That’s when the trying-to-be perfect facade collapses into a full tantrum. Case in point: I still do not understand cleats and one harsh weekend in Anglesey during storm Kathleen was enough to bring me back down to earth with a literal bump. 

I’m still nowhere near a bike expert. I can’t do fancy leg swings. I have just about mastered putting my foot down when I stop. I'm still not confident enough to raise my saddle height so it’s about level with my handle bars. And, I haven't had a puncture in the rain in the middle of nowhere, yet – maybe that’s part 2 of this essay. 

But if cycling has taught me anything, it's that the lows are never forever. There’s always a cake around the corner. 

I look back and I just can’t believe how much has changed. 

And with that, I'm going to go for a ride.