If we took a holiday... Took some time to celebrate...
I’m somewhere in the region of Leigh-On-Sea, skidding down a double-parked street and braking like my life depends on it. Sorry, excuse me, I’m still getting used to this; like our lives depend on it.
Just one day out of life... It would beee... It would be so niiice!
Tandem bicycles, I fear, aren’t meant to slow down quickly. The pedals are spinning, I’m losing our balance, and I’ve/we’ve only got twenty yards to come to a halt before a busy main road. A couple of fat chavs express their anger at having to wobble out of our path; then they see that the guy on the bike with me is wearing a luminous vest with the words ‘Blind Athlete’ etched onto it. That shuts them up pretty quickly. All the while, my sightless bike buddy continues to giggle and sing Madonna like he’s having the time of his life, which perhaps he is, despite him being very switched on and knowing we must be going way too fast. The guy’s name is Chris Blackabee and he’s training to do a triathlon. Today, I’m his guide and confidante; we both pedal, but I have the added responsibility of the handlebars, keeping track of our route, braking, changing gears, signalling, as well as generally ensuring we survive. It’s quite a tall order, to say the least.
Now, at this point, you might be wondering several things. Such as: did they manage to brake in time before they reached the main road and became roadkill (I sure hope that’s a rhetorical question, considering I’m writing this). Also, how difficult is it to ride a tandem for 55 miles, safely, whilst ensuring you remain fully focused? Very difficult, but I’ll get to that in a little while. Thirdly, how in the hell did I get into doing this crazy experiment on Father’s Day? Well, a little while ago I came across an article in the Romford Recorder that didn’t relate to toddler gun crime in Dagenham or a rabid parrot eating pensioners in Aveley, which made a pleasant change. A guy called Chris Blackabee, blind since birth, was requesting training partners, who were willing to help him on a long distance run or tandem bike ride; experienced cyclists were strongly advised, of which group I am most definitely NOT a member. The last time I rode a bike was when Amy Winehouse hadn’t even heard of heroin, Tiger Woods was a faithful family man and Tony Blair was still boss in No. 10. Nevertheless, I like a challenge and, after a couple of cancelled meetings, we finally managed to get together yesterday for an Upminster to Southend (and back) bike ride with the local cycling club. Despite extreme chaffing and sore buttocks this morning, I loved (almost) every minute of it.
Any man who worked in the city for twenty years, has travelled the world, is undertaking a triathlon in his 40s aaand buys me a coffee from Costa is definitely on my Christmas card list. Considering Chris has done this without the benefit of sight since birth is breathtaking; add in the fact that he has a keen sense of humour and a real thirst for life, and he’s pretty damn inspirational. Though he cannot sing at all, but we’ll forgive him for that. Anyway, enough of me sucking up to him, I’m beginning to feel queasy.
The bike ride itself was difficult; even the lead cyclist said so, considering we took on two endless hills within the first hour and encountered heavy traffic later in the afternoon. We had to be precise with our movements, often working with little space and damp, slippery conditions. Luckily Chris and I struck up some decent ways to communicate, speaking almost incessantly about changing gears, when to pedal and lay off the gas etc., as well as just generally having a decent chat. The guy doesn’t let anything get him down; when we were swerving impatient drivers on another of the countless roundabouts we went on, he’d just carry on talking about anything and everything. His Belgian girlfriend, his love of curry (a passion we undoubtedly share), how he thinks British Airways are absolutely pony... He’s a completely normal bloke, with one obvious difference, and another more subtle exception. The obvious difference is, well, obvious. However, more subtly, he’s exceptional because Chris doesn’t allow himself to become lazy like most people as they grow older, and he never gives up on achieving whatever goal that’s just out of reach. I very much look forward to meeting him again; hell, if he wants to pelt down a slippery hill whilst murdering Madonna’s back catalogue, I’ll be up for that too.
As it’s time to say goodbye, we shake hands and talk about our experiences that day; we both enjoyed it, we’re both a bit knackered, and we’re both eager to have another go soon. As I’m leaving, he shouts out ‘see you soon George’; turning around to say the same, I notice a cheeky grin stretching across his face.
God, how I like someone with a sick sense of humour.
Over and out, G x
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