Guru Kaur crossing the finish line...
I love my Pink Brompton, the iconic British designed and built folding bicycle. It's how I potter around Rotherhithe, along the River Thames, through Russia Dock Woodland, and to teach Yoga at the Farm. Most Saturdays we fit it with wicker baskets and venture off a mile or so upstream to Borough Market and Maltby Street for our weekly food shop. Occasionally we put our Bromptons in the boot of the car when we go down to the beach so that we can bicycle along the cliff paths before having a Cream Tea and then going for a stroll in the sunset with the sand between our toes.
Andrew Ritchie, the inventor of the Brompton, was a guest of mine earlier this year on a Regally Graceful Podcast called the Revolutionary Cycle. We talked about the Brompton World Championships, which brings Brompton Lovers from all over the globe to compete in a race at Blenheim Palace.
To get the full flavour of the race, watch the Brompton video, which includes a very short interview with me.
It was the most quintessentially English event imaginable with the non-stop rain doing nothing to dampen all our spirits. Ever mindful that "there is no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing" I made Millie-Pup and me matching waterproofs in Ventile, the pure cotton waterproof, windproof, breathable fabric invented in the 1930s and used to save many RAF men's lives when their planes landed in the drink.
For most of our fellow entrants this was a race against time or each other, it was never entirely clear, with something clearly to prove. For me, however, it became a joyful, if a little hard going on the lungs, ride in the epitome of English Countryside Heaven, a pedal through Paradise, a well-deserved outing into Eden, away from the hubbub of the argy-bargy of the rat race. After the initial flurry of commuter bikers passed me, and I was lapped by the eventual winner, I meandered, puffed and pedalled along under the canopy of orange-turning leaves, cheered on by the occasional sheep (and was that a deer I saw?), with the heady smell of wet lush green grass, pine trees and fresh clean country air.
The map had told us that the first hill was "steep" failing to mention the long climb of the second and subsequent inclines. But there was a great upside to these uphills: lots of freewheeling down the now-slippery lane (I mean race track).
As the tail-enders of commuters sped past me one of them beneficently slowed down and beamed at me shouting "we keep up because you keep up" a nice variation of Yogi Bhajan's motto "keep up and you will be kept up". It was rather encouraging, if not a little disconcerting, to have that feeling I was being watched and cajoled from on high.
There was, though, another not insignificant piece of information that "the race will be conducted around two circuits of the track". That translates as "you'll have to pedal up those hills all over again".
The final home straight is rather long and windy, taking in the occasional ornamental stone bridge, but I could see up ahead the crowds (for there was no one around the route) cheering on the finishers. Then that oh-so-welcome sign: Finish. Only I had another whole circuit left to do. I had no hesitation nor trepidation at pedalling on past the slip stream for those who had indeed completed and setting off, almost alone, for a second Tour de Blenheim. There's something rather exhilarating about choosing "Lap" rather than finish: I was half way, half way through my life, I'm not ready to stop yet!
Knowing that once conquered, familiar challenges can be again vanquished is a mighty confidence booster. The second time round I will confirm that the steep hill was steep, but knowing that it would end, from my own experience, made all the difference; the long, never-ending slow inclines would come to that pivot point where effort is rewarded with ease. That long haul home was all the more scenic knowing what to look out for, the breathtaking vistas across one of our country's great iconic estates. What more could I dream of seeing than our Green and Pleasant Land? Winston Churchill was born here and those Never Give Up Genes seem to grow in every blade of grass and are on the lips of every twittering wild bird. It was a joy. Best of all, when I finally did make the Finish to receive my medal of completion, it marked my victory over adversity, way, way beyond the physical experience I had just endured.
