Sometimes, riding a bike, is leg-burning-masochism, hewn in the fires of carbon-fibre-aerodynamic-innovation, yellow-jersey-wearing, Strava-segment-winning, more-Ks-than-your-neighbour, squeezed-from-a-gel-pack, stone-cold-hard, competitive-ism.
That definition, however breathtakingly hyphenated, is reductive beyond belief.
________
It’s 15:35, New Year’s Eve, 2020. I am attempting to politely wrap up a call with a designer, so that I can catch the last light of 2020 from the saddle of my bike. Just as I leave my desk, my boss messages, sorry mate, not now. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful to work - in 2020 I have spent a total of 6 months out of work, starting with furlough, followed by redundancy. Over those 6 months, my long solo cycles became a huge component of my sanity. I would set off with a couple water bottles, my phone and sporadic inclination as my guide.
Today, I start from my parents’ home, which sits beneath a freezing cold inversion of dense cloud. I sail down the small hill to the centre of the village, a weathered old timer ploughs up past me through the mist, we exchange a nod. Soon I find myself at the bottom of 2 kilometre of steady incline. My legs, and breath, find their rhythm and I settle into the ride, finding myself quickly surrounded by fields.
Gradually a ghostly ridgeline appears above me through the mist. At the foot of this ridge is a switch back, behind which lies half a kilometre of 12%.
I re-find my rhythm, falling into the steady repetitive push. For a time, I watch the road pass beneath me, the occasional column of light bursts through the dense yew trees flanking the road.
Topping out and breathing hard, the cloud layer now lies beneath me, the skies above are crystal clear. I steal a glance at the last sunset of 2020, it is phenomenal. Cars are drawn up on the verge to the left and right, at angles that speak of the clamour to reach the viewpoint for this sunset.
To the South, I look across the New Forrest, to the cranes of Southampton docks which rear out of the mist - a heard of great stiff Sauroposeidon. To the North, patches of low hanging cloud cover frozen woodlands and furrowed fields, running towards the point of Salisbury Cathedral.
‘Fuck me! What an evening!’, or something to that effect, I bark at an innocent dog walker as I whip by.
My legs continue to beat round rhythmically, powering me along a gravel track which follows ridge line West. Soon the gravel degrades into rutted mud, my pace slows. I wind and weave between potholes and mires of mud. A couple of times I dismount to carry my bike around the edge of oceanic puddles.
After 3K of muddy slog, I reach a main road. Pausing, I find my gap and ping across. A short slippery climb takes me past a knobbly-faced couple in wellies. And then. I find myself completely alone. Ahead of me, stretches lightly frosted single track snaking gracefully down into a valley through grassy fields.
My decent is to be lit by the residual light of a sun that has now dipped beyond my horizon. I plunge down, passing tendrils of mist caught in the shadows of hedge rows. Faster, the visibility creeps in. I hit tarmac again, my legs keep pushing me down, the cold managing to find my skin.
My decent is momentarily broken by T junction. I pause, and watch an ancient Defender emerge from the mist bellow, with a puk puk puk, it’s engine struggling on the incline. I plunge down once again. Rolling hills begin to pass me by in a blur of momentum. The road winds me away between thatched cottages and stables, fields and barns. Cars crawl past me through the darkening mist. The air here is denser than ever with fumes and the mist settles on my jacket in droplets of water.
Ahead of me the road turns right through a tunnel under the train line. I pull my break levers, but the left one won’t budge, it’s caught, or frozen, or something. I force myself to remain calm, reapplying. The tunnel hurtles towards me, a wall of impregnable mist. The resistance releases, and finally my brake pads make contact with my disks. My bike slows. I breath out.
A buzz of adrenalin carries me back home. Looking down at my jacket I find, that what moments ago had been droplets of water, has now turned to a fine dusting of frost.
________
I can imagine when recounting my rides to a fresh-faced adolescent, lingering on a bar stool next to me (by some horrendous turn of bad luck of their part), I would be at pains to recount the exact kilometres or times of my rides. But, what I would remember, are things I have seen along the way - mind bending sunsets, horizon reaching single track discoveries, and, close calls with tunnel walls, to name but a few.
I am sat on my bed a couple of days after having been asked to write an article on leading a sustainable sex life. I thought the bed would be an apt place to start my ideation.
What springs to mind at first are the aubergine emojis stacking up in my DMs (I’m joking?), and in one strange moment of eco-sado-masochist-indulgence the image of a burly Finnish man in a sauna flagellating himself with birch leaves comes to mind.
Although the image of a robust Fin in a sauna is certainly encouraging, I feel as though this may have strayed slightly from the reality of leading a sustainable sex life.
Ultimately, leading a sustainable sex life comes down to choosing toys, lubricants, prophylactics and props that do good for you, that is, beyond making you cum, and, that aren’t wholly damaging to the environment.
Why choose sex toys that are healthy for you?
The lining of the mouth, nose, vagina and but hole are all incredibly absorbent areas and are, apart for a straight-up IV line, the fastest places to absorb things into you blood stream. Therefore, it follows, that anything you put inside these areas will likely be absorbed into your blood stream. So, you do not want the lubricants or toys you use in these areas to release chemicals that are damaging to your health.
Why choose sex toys that are less damaging to the environment?
Wouldn’t it be nice to lie back on your bed 12inch vibrating dildo in hand, or, lovingly slide some anal beads inside your partner, knowing full well you had not contributed to the further extraction of Petro-chemicals and subsequent release of CO2 into the atmosphere? We think so. We. Think. So.
[Excerpt of an article written for Impakter ECO]