The ecstatic rush and the pumping of blood, griping to your lean and strong frame, the involuntary flushes from the graceful entanglement. One last push and we’re there together. Dismounting, I relish the satisfied feeling while now lingering in that blissfully exhausted limbo. I let the innumerable images of the pleasure trip we’ve been through together flood the recesses of my mind. The kind of feeling you only get…. after the bicycle ride into college.
Besides the mildly intense obstacle course as described above, sweat patch, serial killer bus driver and helmet hair there aren’t many downsides to hopping on a rusty old bicycle and racing your way past the grim traffic and slow walkers. People seem to be afraid of the dastardly unfashionable helmet though, which is ridiculous. This goes out to all the ladies and boys with hair that long they can shake it in the wind, it’s going to save your life not give you a permanently bad do. I shouldn’t tell many people this, but I feel slightly superhero-esque as I bump and grind my way past the 128 from halls racing down the inevitably deadlocked Rathmines road and fail to stifle my victory chuckle. I’d be called “Speed Demon”. I’ll get a sticker and put that on my helmet. I’d be there when times are tough, rain hail or….no probably not snow. That’d be a risky business.
Endorsing unnecessary physical movement after a hard day’s slog of lectures, library, lectures with the anticipation of some re-re-re heated spagbol to look forward to is not my style. But boy let me tell you, nothing beats a good bike ride. Think back to when you were a kid and the memories of friends and family who would declare a day’s activity down by some park, river or maybe being a city slicker you stuck to the roads in a militarily organized fashion and created havoc. Underlining memory, it was fun. If you’re a slave of the lucratively expensive Dublin transport system ask yourself ‘why oh why did we shove our bikes in the shed for ten years for it to see us again through its dust incrusted chains as pitiable slow students, thrashing against the constraints of timetables and fat cats at Dublin bus getting rid of the beloved 128 (11.20pm party) bus?’
I apologise for seemingly electing myself as the new leader of this addictively happy love life cult. But I’m sure you’ve heard whispers of this revolution being bombarded with how pro-green and beneficial cycling is and how all of your muscles are engaged when you cycle or how you can do something really weird and hire a city cycling coach, who will cycle behind you and give you some pleasant encouragement and tells you honestly your butt doesn’t look big on that saddle. But the best bits for me are the stories. Fellow cyclers getting lost, getting pulled over by the garda for going up a sneaky one way street in the wrong direction to try and pull a fast one on the one way system or genuinely thinking Dublin bus are trying to eradicate them to extinction. So join today, members are clearly smart and we’ve got all the elements of irrational fear and hatred to make us an official cult.
If you’re looking for the ride and a regular bitta stuff, a cycle into college is where it’s at, not Palace. Your bike will be your new love and in your control, chained in waiting branded with a “do not park here, illegal” sticker probably. Throw caution to that blustery wind, but don’t shake your hair in it, keep your backcombed beauty stapled down with a helmet, and get a cool nickname like “Speed Demon,” blitz the yellow lights, and the red for that matter, but make sure you look both ways, Dublin bus want revenge from all their lost custom.