I’m still waiting for spring to kick fully into gear. It’s felt staccato so far – high notes of days of real warmth, when colours are vibrant and full of new life, punctuating otherwise lows of cold, bitter winds from the north, and grey, sullen skies reflected in dull, barren patches of countryside.
With that, it’s been hard to bring myself to life these past few weeks. I’ve felt constrained by my surroundings, stuck in routines, without the energy or inclination to try something different, go somewhere else. Maybe it’s a natural process: just like nature needs time to rest and recover through the colder months of the year, so the same should do me some good, even if back pain here, shoulder spasms and knee aches tell me otherwise. But I find it difficult to process – the highs of those good days bring too much of a promise that we’re set fair (as far as the UK goes) for the next few months; the lows of the bad days then take pleasure in wiping that hope away.
I’ve needed something to break that spell, and, as often happens, it comes from the unexpected. 30 minutes free over lunchtime at work in London, but instead of one of my usual walks through the same streets, seeing the same sights, overhearing the same types of conversations, I take a bike and set myself the challenge of cycling 15 minutes in one direction, before 15 minutes back to the office.
I choose to head north, for no particular reason other than it’s the easiest way out of the maze of streets around the office. A couple of minutes of the non-descript: central London office buildings and shops, and then it starts: neat rows 18th and 19th century townhouses opposite council-built high-rises; next to student accommodation; next to an eye hospital; next to a scientific research centre; next to a school and it’s caged playground; next to a cemetery with some tombs seemingly draped in cloaks – as if playing their own ironic game of Traitors; along roads whose names evoke the past – Shepherdess Walk – perhaps the literary or sinister – Micawber Street – and definitely the curious – Helmet Row; over a canal and into another world of elegant gentrified streets; past a village green; past fancy housing built on the sites of historical buildings; through streets where the birdsong is louder than the murmur of traffic. And suddenly the ‘real’ city again: the roar of buses, the beeping of horns, the crowds, the flags from different corners of the world – Colombia, Thailand, Jamaica and India represented within a couple of blocks.
It’s 15 minutes of pure discovery, of pushing personal boundaries – so simple, but immensely rewarding. It’s a happy shock to go through places that I feel I should have known, having lived and worked in London on-off for too many years, but are in reality complete unknowns, and getting the same feeling of joy and euphoria that I would from a cycle ride or walk in a new landscape or when one of those unforgettable views comes into sight for the first time.
My 15 minutes may be up, but instead of feeling constrained by the need to head back to the office, I enjoy the sense of my mind being unlocked. I wear a quiet smile during that quarter of an hour, content in what I’ve done, but also in what I know I can look forward to again. What if next time I can push it to 20 minutes? What if I go east, or south, or whatever direction? Where does that take me and what will I find?
I don’t cycle as much as I walk – at least not in the colder months of the year – but the rhythms of cycling serve a similar purpose for me as walking. I don’t do it so much for the exercise – not for me slick road bikes and tight-fitting lycra – but more for the enjoyment I gain of simply moving at speeds that both get me somewhere faster and further than walking, but not fast enough that I can’t take in my surroundings and feel grounded in a landscape in a way that you can’t in a car.
London’s ride serves to remind me of the power of curiosity and spontaneity, and how much fun I can have on a bike, no matter where I am and how little time I have. Today, it’s cold again; staccato spring has struck back. But instead of submitting to the urge to do nothing but shuffle quietly around the house, I push myself to cycle from home. Not far, I tell myself, but just something to get me out, to keep the mind and wheels turning.
As I go, the not far becomes why not just a little bit further, and then just a little bit further again. 15 minutes becomes 30, becomes an hour and more. I fall back into that steady rhythm and take simple pleasures from the grassy fields freshly cut in pinstripe-like lines, from the smells of fresh flowers mixed with not-so-fresh cow dung, and from the tease of distant views of a brilliant white turret appearing over a patch of woodlands. And my mind thinks forward to warmer days again, to ideas of new rides, and to the discoveries that those will bring.