Objectives of desire

Ned ponders his affection for cycling on a ride from London to Minehead

- Ned Boulting

I still don't really know if I like cycling. I hope that in saying this that I have enough credit with the editorial team at Cycling Plus, my long-standing employers to whom I am very grateful, not to be instantly dismissed for going woefully off message with this latest column. But, maybe it is an unacceptable breach of the code, and act of heresy, to admit to ambivalent feelings from time to time vis à vis pedalling a push-bike.

The thing is, I still greatly enjoy certain expressions of the bicycle. I very much like to descend off a mountain at the Tour de France on my folding bike, watching on as Pete Kennaugh and David Millar race ahead, letting the elastic go (so to speak) and knowing that I have perhaps twenty minutes of gently drifting downhill, weaving through crowds, as the warm afternoon sun begins to sink towards the horizon of another race day in the Alps. This kind of riding has a serene sense of purpose.