How cycling began for me
The story of how I found cycling...
In the beginning... I never knew my dad had been a semi professional racing cyclist. He rode for Viking in the late 50's, early 60's as an "Independant" (a paid amateur who kept a "real" job as well). I think my parents kept it hidden so my brothers and I wouldn't feel pressured into doing it and following in our father's footsteps.
They needn't have worried. My brothers and I discovered the joys of cycling by chance one summer whilst staying at our grandad's. Our parents had selfishly won a holiday to Ibiza and jetted off for 2 weeks in the sun leaving me, and my two older brothers, Dave and Mark, up to our own devices in the warm August of 1978. I was seven years old.
Pre computers, games consoles and Channel 4 it was to the outdoors that most excitement was to be had and after a route in grandad's loft and discovery of an old bike, Dave had the cunning plan of fixing it up for me so we could all go for a ride. We already all had bikes but mine, being some chopperesque contraption, was not suitable for the road ride Dave was planning for us. So this old one which had big wheels and a few gears seemed a better option.
Dave took a trip to Longworths bike shop in Wallasey Village to buy a few bits for repairs and more importantly a 1970's equivalent of a cycle computer, a mechanical mileometer to record our epic journey.
Armed with a couple of quid and a bottle of water we set off from Wallasey on the Wirral one sunny morning to ride to Parkgate on the coast beside the River Dee. Wearing our best "bombers" (old jeans cut into long shorts, usually because the knees have put through too many times to rescue them), a tee shirt and trainers we were ready for anything. The ride itself was fairly uneventful. I can vaguely remember stopping a couple of times for a swig of water and to catch my breath. I was rewarded on arrival at Parkgate with a home made ice cream from Nicholls (still there today) and a sit for 20 minutes on the prom wall. Even getting back wasn't too bad despite there being several Hors category climbs on the way home. Total mileage for the day 24 miles.
I didn't think too much about what we had done, but my mum felt more than panicked about the whole episode when she got home and Dave confessed to our little adventure. After mum's protests to Dave about the risks of taking a 7 year old out for a 24 mile first ride, he calmly replied "Calm down mum, it's fine. We gave him an ice cream at Parkgate and he was happy"
Soon after this dad 'fessed up to his own exploits in cycling. He even went in the loft and dug out all his medals to show us and a jersey he used in the 1961 Tour de France. How awesome this was didn't dawn on me until I really immersed myself in the world of bike racing. Before long we all, that's my mum, dad, 2 brothers and me, were getting out on the bikes every weekend. It didn't take many rides for me to be smitten with riding a bike, and in less than 6 months I was looking for a cycling club to join and further improve my cycling ability.
My first "racer" was a green Raleigh Olympus. I made my dad remove the "lazy brakes" brake levers as they weren't what the pros had. My first "proper" bike was a hand built 19" metallic silver Andy Wilde made with Reynolds 531 tubing. I got it for Christmas 1980. The genius idea my dad had was to use 26" wheels with mudguards in the winter and then swap to standard 27" sprints for racing without the mudguards. I loved that bike and was sad the day it became too small.
I think it's fair to say that at the this point, I had turned away from being "normal". Riding my bike and everything to do with cycling became the number one thing to occupy my time. It wasn't that long after I started riding seriously that I packed in going to cubs on a Thursday night so I could ride the "chaingang". I didn't play out in the road with the other kids anymore I went out and did some interval training.
I was so well supported by my family, that I couldn't help but be successful in those early days. I wasn't aware then, but looking back, my parents gave so much time and money to get me to races with decent kit to give me a fair chance to prove myself. I didn't ride for a sponsored club and get additional financial support until senior level and up to then they had provided everything for me. This was particularly true in the latter stages of being a schoolboy and my junior years,(1985 to 1988) when I did have some good results.
Looking back at the early 1980's I marvel at how keen I must have been. Before I was 12 I could only race in ESCA (English Schools Cycling Association) events which were a regional and then a national championship event once a year in each discipline. That meant that the rest of the racing season I was taken to watch the rest of the family compete in a variety of events around the country. I think always the low point for me must have been getting up at 4.30am on a Sunday morning and driving out to a 25 mile time trial at Broxton to watch my mum, 2 brothers and dad all trying to get to close to or under the hour. Usually it would be freezing cold that time of day and I would sit in the car and eat the picnic lunch before 9am! The only positive was being allowed to ride home from the event (about 30 miles) and getting the half wheel on my dad or brothers as they would be shattered from the race.
This image was taken from the Cycling Weekly of the ESCA National Hill Climb Champs in October 1982. I was riding my mum's bike as I had out grown my own road bike.
Of course the other big draw of riding a bike in those days were the winter club runs. I absolutely loved the Sunday rides in the winter time with the lads and lasses of the North Wirral Velo. Even at 10 or 11 years of age I loved to mix it up with the senior lads in the club. I lived for the climbs in North Wales and soon found that being half the weight of some of the other lads in the club was a significant advantage when the gradient went up.
Each week the rides seemed to be more competitive. Eventually, we had a yellow jersey to award to the first one back to the "Mills" (the Eureka cafe at Two Mills @Eureka_Cafe, probably the best and most famous cyclist's cafe in the country and the first centre of the cyclist's universe. The second centre was Rhuthin in North Wales). It was a long sleeved jersey and was massive (I think a 44" chest). We had the words "Sponsored by Yangs Chippy and Woodbines" printed onto it, thought up by some comedian in the club.
As you can imagine, this became my new goal, to earn the right to wear it. And one week in November 1981, I achieved it by attacking at the bottom of the Ewloe hill in Queensferry with one other lad (a third cat rider) on way the back from an 80 mile club run to Rhuthin. I managed to get him to lead out and then jumped him in the sprint. Arms aloft, the greatest victory an eleven year old could wish to experience! My mum kindly pinned 4 inches in on each side of the jersey so I could wear it the following Sunday, which I did, with pride.
I have lots of great memories of the early 80's and always thought that it was riding with the senior lads all the time that made me successful as a schoolboy. But looking back, a lot of the lads I rode with in the schoolboy (under 16's) races must have had similar experiences.
In the beginning... I never knew my dad had been a semi professional racing cyclist. He rode for Viking in the late 50's, early 60's as an "Independant" (a paid amateur who kept a "real" job as well). I think my parents kept it hidden so my brothers and I wouldn't feel pressured into doing it and following in our father's footsteps.
They needn't have worried. My brothers and I discovered the joys of cycling by chance one summer whilst staying at our grandad's. Our parents had selfishly won a holiday to Ibiza and jetted off for 2 weeks in the sun leaving me, and my two older brothers, Dave and Mark, up to our own devices in the warm August of 1978. I was seven years old.
Pre computers, games consoles and Channel 4 it was to the outdoors that most excitement was to be had and after a route in grandad's loft and discovery of an old bike, Dave had the cunning plan of fixing it up for me so we could all go for a ride. We already all had bikes but mine, being some chopperesque contraption, was not suitable for the road ride Dave was planning for us. So this old one which had big wheels and a few gears seemed a better option.
Dave took a trip to Longworths bike shop in Wallasey Village to buy a few bits for repairs and more importantly a 1970's equivalent of a cycle computer, a mechanical mileometer to record our epic journey.
Armed with a couple of quid and a bottle of water we set off from Wallasey on the Wirral one sunny morning to ride to Parkgate on the coast beside the River Dee. Wearing our best "bombers" (old jeans cut into long shorts, usually because the knees have put through too many times to rescue them), a tee shirt and trainers we were ready for anything. The ride itself was fairly uneventful. I can vaguely remember stopping a couple of times for a swig of water and to catch my breath. I was rewarded on arrival at Parkgate with a home made ice cream from Nicholls (still there today) and a sit for 20 minutes on the prom wall. Even getting back wasn't too bad despite there being several Hors category climbs on the way home. Total mileage for the day 24 miles.
I didn't think too much about what we had done, but my mum felt more than panicked about the whole episode when she got home and Dave confessed to our little adventure. After mum's protests to Dave about the risks of taking a 7 year old out for a 24 mile first ride, he calmly replied "Calm down mum, it's fine. We gave him an ice cream at Parkgate and he was happy"
Soon after this dad 'fessed up to his own exploits in cycling. He even went in the loft and dug out all his medals to show us and a jersey he used in the 1961 Tour de France. How awesome this was didn't dawn on me until I really immersed myself in the world of bike racing. Before long we all, that's my mum, dad, 2 brothers and me, were getting out on the bikes every weekend. It didn't take many rides for me to be smitten with riding a bike, and in less than 6 months I was looking for a cycling club to join and further improve my cycling ability.
My first "racer" was a green Raleigh Olympus. I made my dad remove the "lazy brakes" brake levers as they weren't what the pros had. My first "proper" bike was a hand built 19" metallic silver Andy Wilde made with Reynolds 531 tubing. I got it for Christmas 1980. The genius idea my dad had was to use 26" wheels with mudguards in the winter and then swap to standard 27" sprints for racing without the mudguards. I loved that bike and was sad the day it became too small.
I think it's fair to say that at the this point, I had turned away from being "normal". Riding my bike and everything to do with cycling became the number one thing to occupy my time. It wasn't that long after I started riding seriously that I packed in going to cubs on a Thursday night so I could ride the "chaingang". I didn't play out in the road with the other kids anymore I went out and did some interval training.
I was so well supported by my family, that I couldn't help but be successful in those early days. I wasn't aware then, but looking back, my parents gave so much time and money to get me to races with decent kit to give me a fair chance to prove myself. I didn't ride for a sponsored club and get additional financial support until senior level and up to then they had provided everything for me. This was particularly true in the latter stages of being a schoolboy and my junior years,(1985 to 1988) when I did have some good results.
Looking back at the early 1980's I marvel at how keen I must have been. Before I was 12 I could only race in ESCA (English Schools Cycling Association) events which were a regional and then a national championship event once a year in each discipline. That meant that the rest of the racing season I was taken to watch the rest of the family compete in a variety of events around the country. I think always the low point for me must have been getting up at 4.30am on a Sunday morning and driving out to a 25 mile time trial at Broxton to watch my mum, 2 brothers and dad all trying to get to close to or under the hour. Usually it would be freezing cold that time of day and I would sit in the car and eat the picnic lunch before 9am! The only positive was being allowed to ride home from the event (about 30 miles) and getting the half wheel on my dad or brothers as they would be shattered from the race.
Of course the other big draw of riding a bike in those days were the winter club runs. I absolutely loved the Sunday rides in the winter time with the lads and lasses of the North Wirral Velo. Even at 10 or 11 years of age I loved to mix it up with the senior lads in the club. I lived for the climbs in North Wales and soon found that being half the weight of some of the other lads in the club was a significant advantage when the gradient went up.
Each week the rides seemed to be more competitive. Eventually, we had a yellow jersey to award to the first one back to the "Mills" (the Eureka cafe at Two Mills @Eureka_Cafe, probably the best and most famous cyclist's cafe in the country and the first centre of the cyclist's universe. The second centre was Rhuthin in North Wales). It was a long sleeved jersey and was massive (I think a 44" chest). We had the words "Sponsored by Yangs Chippy and Woodbines" printed onto it, thought up by some comedian in the club.
As you can imagine, this became my new goal, to earn the right to wear it. And one week in November 1981, I achieved it by attacking at the bottom of the Ewloe hill in Queensferry with one other lad (a third cat rider) on way the back from an 80 mile club run to Rhuthin. I managed to get him to lead out and then jumped him in the sprint. Arms aloft, the greatest victory an eleven year old could wish to experience! My mum kindly pinned 4 inches in on each side of the jersey so I could wear it the following Sunday, which I did, with pride.
I have lots of great memories of the early 80's and always thought that it was riding with the senior lads all the time that made me successful as a schoolboy. But looking back, a lot of the lads I rode with in the schoolboy (under 16's) races must have had similar experiences.
I joined the North Wirral Velo at the same time as your Dad, I guess that would have been 1952.
ReplyDeleteWe were out in North Wales as members of the Clarion and a group of Velo riders passed us all with stripped down bikes with BLRC on their jerseys. Your Dad and I decided this was more what we wanted and joined the Velo. We both lived in Liverpool at the time and for years most people thought we lived in the Wirral.
Brian Pearson