Still We Ride
And so my main concern whilst cycling out towards the Halloween Critical Mass was would my chuffing cycling tights manage to stay up?
You can reclaim the streets and impose an ideological ethos based around the LOVE of the bicycle; but you’re looking a little silly if your warmie cycling tights are left dangling around your ankles mid-ride.
Don’t fancy yours much, etc.
Another last Friday of the month, another Critical Mass - now there’s a sentence that I’ve not been able to blog about for sometime.
I couldn’t be arsed to trawl through m’blog archives to find out when I last rode the Mass. It’s a reassuring feeling knowing that the Mass still rides whatever the weather from underneath Waterloo Bridge each month.
My absence may have been getting on for almost half a decade, but the belief in the communal power of the bicycle remains strong. And so does the belief in the power of the Brompton. Since when did the folders become the nu fixies for the London cycling community?
I navigated my way around Vauxhall Cross - on my Brompton, natch - feeling slightly… cross that the hellish traffic interchange is still pretty shitty for any cyclist.
Long gone are the days of the inner Bicycle Warrior when my middle finger was used as often as my back brake. I kept calm, and kept my space in trying to escape Vauxhall.
This was sufficient justification in joining the Mass and reminding car users that for once a month, cyclists can reclaim the shared road space in safety.
The Halloween Mass is always one of the highlights in the cycling calendar. Face masks, make-up and ridiculous costumes. I fitted in quite well with my over-sized cycling shoes and my tights halfway down my leg.
I remember the days when some of the winter rides struggled to raise a Mass of fifty or so riders. Not so now with at least 500 cyclists eager to roll out of Waterloo, and the ride doubling in number throughout the evening.
The ringing of the bicycle bells just before 7pm underneath the Waterloo arches is the signal in which to start the weekend with a cycling SMILE. There is symbolism in the pent up energy coiled up within the bicycle bells. It’s the end of the week and the Mass wants to ride the streets of London in celebration.
I needed a little more lubrication to be convinced.
“Where are you riding to?”
…asked a young lady as we crawled up towards the Imax.
“Right inside your dreams, Baby. Right inside your dreams.”
It’s impossible to describe in a hit and miss blog the many different types of bicyclists that ride the Mass. Joining the Brompton Boys and Girls were some Boris Bikes, a Tall Bike or two and a weird Graeme Obree style capsule.
Plus don’t forget the many cycle sound systems, evenly spread out as the Mass grew longer and longer. For the record: the best tunes are always at the back of the ride. Here is where you will hear heavy dub, slowed down and slightly off the pace - much like the riders bringing up the rear.
We had a rider down outside the British Museum.
Whoops.
It was an unfortunate female on a Boris Bike who came a slight cropper. Losing her marbles, etc…
A brief ride through the West End, and then the Mass became disjointed as we headed along Bond Street. It wasn’t until Bayswater when all riders were once again reunited, just in time for a bit of a party outside the Palace.
Bicyclists say Meh to yer Royal sprog pic.twitter.com/mnq2nXy3TS
— Jason_Cobb (@Jason_Cobb) October 25, 2013
A slow crawl towards Westminster, and then the Transpontine waters were once again on my radar. This was my signal to head back down to the Beautiful South.
And so why do you ride?
Oh so many reasons…
Some political, some social. Some that you just can’t explain away.
Still We Ride.
Chapeau!
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