Author Hilary Boyd describes how cycling has helped her adjust to leaving the hustle and bustle of London life for a more rural existence on the coast of England. And, how riding a bike has reminded her that you're never too old to take up a new hobby!
I’d call myself a Londoner. I’ve lived in the city for sixty plus years. Do I love it? Not sure, I sort of take my relationship with the place for granted, a bit like a long marriage. And yes, we’ve had our ups and downs over the years, with me longing to get away and London always dragging me back. Until recently, it was hard to imagine myself in any other context – again, a bit like a marriage.
But in the last few years, things changed. Every time my husband and I went out of town, we were more and more reluctant to come back - too loud, too polluted, too frantic, too… everything. We were almost ashamed to think in such clichés.
And after months of soul-searching, we took the plunge. Boy, was it scary. Don’t laugh, I know I talk as if the country is some strange, alien place where my existence - as I know it - might be threatened. I do realize that millions of people live all their lives perfectly happily out of the city, but you have to understand that I was a total addict.
The day we moved we sat amongst the boxes in our cottage near the sea and panicked. Had we done the right thing? Would we be bored? Would we become dull, lose all our friends? My big worry was that the move smacked of retirement – although both of us are still currently working. By leaving the buzz and excitement of the city would we be closing something off, narrowing our lives down to garden centres and old age? Argh!
My big worry was that the move smacked of retirement...By leaving the buzz and excitement of the city would we be closing something off, narrowing our lives down to garden centres and old age?
But there we were, nervously contemplating our new life, when something wonderful happened. I got a bike. Not such an extraordinary thing you might say, but I hadn’t ridden one for at least thirty years, possibly longer. My husband, irritatingly, jumped on his and rode off as if to the manor born. I, on the other hand, was petrified. I wobbled along the road clutching the handlebars with white knuckles, baffled by the seven gears, – last bike I owned only had three, – gasping in fright at every car that passed and quite unable to take my hand off long enough to signal right or left. Uphill made my thighs scream with pain, downhill made me scream with terror. All in all it was a slightly traumatic interlude. But, I have to confess, also exhilarating. I was doing something new, something I was nervous of but still went ahead with, something I could get better at if I persevered. Which I have, sort of. Sir Bradley hasn’t phoned to ask me on a ride yet, but there’s time. And it has brought a whole new enjoyment to my life, just as moving out of London has.
So it seems there’s life in the old dog yet. And I reckon it’s a case of Now or Never at my age. I am contemplating my next challenge as we speak. I’m thinking pole-vaulting, or maybe winning Bake Off? (I promise not to touch anyone else’s Baked Alaska!) Answers on a postcard please…
**Hilary Boyd's new book, A Most Desirable Marriage is now available to purchase from Amazon and all good bookshops.
