“Guy has lost his mind, He is building a Human Powered Vehicle and he is going to spend 12 months criss crossing South Africa to raise funds for community projects. He needs your support and help. Find out more about the pedal for charity.”
So, yup! A local SA blogger, Guy Maclaren, is hoping to cycle about the country in a strange contraption in the hope of raising R 2 million for community projects and charities by the end of 2009. Which I think is a pretty honourable endeavour (if, I agree Guy, a little loopy). He’s created a site, which he’ll be blogging on, and recently a blog meme around the story of your earliest or best cycling or bicycle memories.
So I thought, in the interest of charity, why not.
Let me just preface this by saying I really hate cycling. I’m happy to celebrate other people doing it. But I hate doing it myself. The uncomfortable seat? The sore calves? The strange concept of lugging not only yourself, but a large machine up hills? Spin classes? Anathema!
Now, if we were talking about motorbikes…..*swoon*.
Ahem…where was I?
I do have some fond memories of bicycles. The day we agreed to sell the 3 metal bastards we’d been schlepping about on the back of our ford lazer while we trundled around Australia. That day was good. Seeing the whites of some oke’s eyes when I approached, large with the “heathrow injection” his cleverly branded London rickshaw. Poor dude. The day I had to hand out the prizes at the Cape Argus Pick ‘n Pay Cycle tour because we couldn’t find the dignitary who was earmarked to do it. Laughing at my friend’s roasties from falling off her mountain bike.
But I’m being mean. And I digress. Again.
Actually, come to think of it. Most of my bike memories are quite bad. The old “BP” black plastic bike I used to vroom around on in my gran’s garden that was shoved up against the braai and melted. The day my dad bought me my first real bike. I promptly rode it right into the big old avocado tree in our garden and buckled it. The time I was laughing so hard while riding I wee’d a bit and slid off the back, and skinned half the skin off my legs.
No wonder I’m not so fond.
But watching the Tour de France peloton stream through the lush French hills or the Argus winner streak across the finish line or the mud covered mountain biker who’s white-teethed grin is the only thing you can see on their face. I get it. I can see what an addictive sport this could be for someone.
But you aren’t getting me in those shorts, bucko. Not never J
P.S. Tagging is pressure. So if you like the idea, go for it. Again, you can find more info here.