The fixed gear diaries

There's something infinitely refreshing about bike riding in the morning.

It's a weekday, I'm outside of my home. A chilly scent can be smelt in the air. Wrapped up. Gloves, bobble hat, scarf. Aviator leather jacket. Clarks, naturally. I'm ready. The street is solemn, sleepy. Destination: work. Mounted and away I go. The busy road at the top of my street is congested with various cars and buses. Morning commuters. A blur of vehicles motor up and down. I wait, patiently, for a window a gate to ride through. It opens, I'm away. This winter is true to type. Cold, crisp. I dislike it and yet I don't mind it, I think. A strange dichotomy.

London Grammar seems perfect for this journey. The album circulates through the consciousness. I'm waking up fast as I peddle. Eyes switched to alert mode. I have to be attentive, careful. I pass a slow cyclist on my left. The hill is sapping his energy. I spot more a little behind him. Members of the fraternity. Head down as I quicken the pace until I get to the lights across from the route into Chatsworth park. I'm off the road and on the pavement that leads to into it. A gaggle of people, mainly students are waiting beside me. Cyclists too. 

Past the kids and parents going to school. Into and through the functional park. Weaving in and out of morning walkers and cyclists. It's the popular passage for many as they embark on the city centre. Brown leaves are sprinkled along the floor. A Hansel and Gretel trail that I follow. The trail comes to a stop as I do. Red. A large selection of wilted leaves are gathered at the set of lights. More waiting, watching, thinking. Some of these students really don't dress according to the climate. Studying for a degree and they still don't have any common sense. Amber bike symbol lights up - I'm off before it turns green. The road isn't great, holes and uneven terrain make it potentially hazardous as I manoeuvre in a zigzag trying evade tyre peril. The council need to sort themselves out. I am far from impressed.

Coffee shop dwellers sat comfortable and relaxed. Watching the morning world from their sofas. I glance in as I cycle past. I see them, do they see me? The double decker bus has stopped I whizz around it before it moves again.

I love this album. It's perfect for this winters morning. The iced breeze is felt as I shoot down blind spots and onto open road before looking over my shoulder, I make a swift right turn down a long inviting road. By night it's alive with clubbers and the the like. This morning, however, is a very different beast. The clubs lay dormant. Resting. Down the street and closer to where I need to be. I take in much around me as I approach the finish line. Nearly there.

The glorious docks reveal themselves to me like a picturesque postcard. I always marvel at the familiar sights. Boats, buildings, museums. A visually pleasing backdrop. There is one big building that then comes into sight. The place in which a large chunk of my day will be spent. Destination: work. Yep, I'm here.


Demola, TCC 

.