Still don't buy that. It looks too good to be true. I mean, I *know* I did this last Tuesday, because I'm me and I'm pretty sure I'm remember being kidnapped and replaced by someone who was part antelope, but it really is hard to credit even the little bit about pootling to the Gyle in fifteen minutes. I remember fifteen minutes being my nemesis; attempting a breach of that time would have me phoning Techie Support shortly after reaching the office to unlock my account because my hands had been shaking too much to get my password right in only three goes.
I wouldn't have believed you if you'd said that any time you see a boy racer tiddlercocking past you at rush hour that you are almost guaranteed to pass him within two sets of lights. I was already aware that you didn't save a significant amount of time by driving hard, but the novelty still hangs on, and filtering through the slit beside him like a cheekily multi-locational particle on a Feynmann summed path puts a smile on my face as bright as the orange of his tan.
I wouldn't have believed you if I said the number of non-cyclists I knew personally who had bone-breaking accidents this year would be greater than the much larger number of daily on-road cyclocommuters I knew-ish from the tendrils of t'interweb. That's not to say I've changed my mind about the cycling provision - I've always thought that was a pile of guff, although I wasn't expecting the sheer perfection of terrible design that is the Broomhouse rumblestrip.
I wouldn't have believed you that on one day I'd be able to triple my previous distance record of 40 miles. As it happens, I'd have been right; it almost killed me, but I also wouldn't have believed I'd ever do 40 miles in one day, let alone double it and still have about...one mile left in my legs. Not in under a year, anyway.
I wouldn't have believed you that I was in fact only partially aware of how beautiful Tayside, the Highlands and East Lothian are. There's no way of getting round the go-team motivational speaker bollocks that poke out from under the tail of the following statement, but trust me: they look better when you're earned them. I wouldn't have believed you that I was going to use the last gasp of air in my lungs, which up till that point I'd wrapped in a condom up my breath-arse to hide it from the bloodstream guards, to laugh at the Cuillins, after cresting the last peak of the climb from Kylerhea. Never have I been so directly propagandised to by inanimate objects on behalf of Visit Scotland, and I had to spend that breath giggling at their transparent attempt to seduce me.
I wouldn't have believed you that I would find myself nominated to be at the head of fourteen cyclists, leading them from Harrison Park onto the biggest demonstration outside Holyrood that the police had yet seen. I'd have laughed in your face if you mentioned the other hundred and eight that showed up for that feeder and the other three thousand at the main event.
I really, really wouldn't have believed you'd ever see me in lycra.
I didn't even believe I could get to the Gyle in 20-25 minutes along the Union with no sweat and almost no on-road cycling (and even that could be walked in a couple of minutes) until I actually did it the night before my first commute. I've tried to bring a neighbour who also works there over to the bike side, but from her expression when I explain the timing and route? I don't think she believes me.
.bruce macdonald (@uberuce)