Reflections on being a cyclist

Nomenclature
I think I can claim to be a cyclist now. That may seem a weird thing to think about, but it's like when I started running: at what point can you claim to be a runner? Anyway, I figure 1600 or so miles in three months is enough to claim being a cyclist.

I cannot imagine having done this trip on any bike other than Argo. I named it (her!) The Argo after the ship which carried Jason and his fellow ruffians - sorry, heroes - on their trip to steal - sorry, find and retrieve - the Golden Fleece. In some of the legends the Argo is attributed some sort of sentience, helping keep the Greek toughies out of some trouble. I figured this was a good name for a bike that would be taking me on (to be a little cliched here) the journey of a lifetime; while I'm not planning on stealing a national treasure (and let's not talk about Medea), I was rather hoping she would keep me out of trouble along the way. And yes, I do have a tendency to anthropomorphise objects; spending such a huge amount of time with it seemed to make naming the bike a good idea. It also allows for some displacement activity when negotiating particularly hairy sections of track; plus, how else could she Twitter?

Built by Baum, Argo is over-engineered for anything other than a trip like this. I know I'm meant to like the gears because they're hub-gears, etc etc; I just like that they allow me to ride (slowly) up inclines of 10% or so. And I know I'm meant to like the brakes because they're hydraulic disk brakes; I just like them because they allow me to ride (slowly) down inclines of 20% or so with my main terror being that I'll fall off if I grip them too hard. And I love the loopy handle bars because they're more comfortable, and they look different.

Experience
Being a cyclist is a remarkably sociable activity. Out riding, I can almost remember the number of fellow-cyclists who haven't said hello to us; and most of them were chavs (bogans) out cruising because their other wheels got taken away from them. And most of the time pedestrians - when you're out on the real cycling trails - also say hello. Frankly, it makes being a pedestrian again, especially in towns, really weird: you no longer stand out, you're no longer exceptional, because you don't look any different from anyone else. We've passed a lot of fellow cycle tourists, but we're still something of an oddity for most people in this country, which makes people pay attention. Actually, I think we finished the cycling at the right time, because I was just starting to get the urge to pull faces at people when they stared at me and Argo - especially when we were puffing up hills.

Being a cyclist also makes you remarkably non-scary. Arriving by bike almost always starts a conversation at lunch time, and especially at our accommodation. Opening our traps in bars and pubs, revealing ourselves as Aussies, often starts a conversation too - but add in the bit about the bicycles and all of a sudden people are interested in chatting, finding out why we're so crazy and where we're going. You don't necessarily get that sort of reaction when you're traveling by car - I guess because you're not that unusual.

Sadly, sometimes it bites to be a girl cyclist. For example, let's imagine a day of riding oh, say 30 miles. You have to drink a lot to keep from dehydrating. You have lunch on the trail - maybe 2-minute noodles. And you don't pass a single public toilet for the entire day...

Inevitabilities
Despite what I drummed into my Yr12 students, some things really are inevitable.

If I put on sunscreen, it will rain.
If I take off my rain jacket, it will rain. (And sometimes, vice versa.)
When I am puffing up a hill, gasping for air, then will the greatest concentration of insects in the shire appear.
Whenever I encounter a descent, there will be an opposite - and frequently unequal - ascent in the near future.
The quantity of cream in a Lunchtime Bakery Treat is directly proportional to how long and/or steep the hill will be within a mile of the lunch stop.

In the end...
I've enjoyed being a cyclist. It was of course a very different experience for me - I am not really all that comfortable as a tourist, but at least on the bike I got to feel like I was genuinely experiencing the country, at least to some extent.

Will I now be a 'real' cyclist when I get home? Insofar as cycling to uni, sure; and around Melbourne a bit, absolutely. I'm keeping Argo as my normal bike; no way am I giving up those gears. But will I be out racing with the lycra loonies on their road bikes? Hell no.