A cycle ode to Helen.

Human beings are complex. I’m sure that we experience many more emotions than the English language has words for. Such as the specific guilt for that time when you said something well-meaning but with unintended consequences to Helen because terminal illness is difficult and we don’t all get it right. Or the deep regret that you couldn’t go to Berlin because you weren’t even in the UK but you still think you should have done it even when you couldn’t. Or the disbelief her death is real even you have evidence to demonstrate it’s very real. Or the deep-seated conviction that Marlow, the daft minded cat, needs a careful and slow worded explanation of what’s happened because you know he’s not smart and won’t get that Helen is gone.  Then there’s the special loneliness that comes even when surrounded by people, as opposed to the comforting feeling of loneliness when you’re in nature but you can feel the spirit of something around you. 

With all those emotions and more before I’d even had a morning orange juice I knew it was going to be a tough morning. What would Helen Bacon do? Helen of course would get on the bike outside the back door of my cottage and ride it. 

So that’s what I did. 

My steed: at the border for Laos, which I guess is a boat for locals only.

I went and checked the tyres. I checked the brakes. Thanks Liz Clarke who has trained me on basic mechanics - twice 😊 I had to do this the idiot’s way because I can never recall which is my back brake and which is my front. I fixed the back brake which was rubbing (thanks Sarah Roberts for years of advice for my hybrid) but the bike wheel was not being stopped by anything no matter which lever I was pressing. At least I recalled the back brake is really important so I was conscious of what to do so I didn’t go head over handlebars. I contemplated setting it up properly but there was too much rust involved and I was only going out for a wee pootle. 

And off I went. 

I cycled past wooden houses, clucking chickens, old ladies on scooters who were twisting around to look at the farang (foreigner). Past wooden signs stating each village’s population, number of men and women. Past small children amusing themselves in front yards. Past faded signs in Chinese from the Yunnan descendants. Past temples with signs in Thai and Laotian and beautiful flowers, wooden houses and dogs with tails set to permanent wag. I felt some of those clunky heavy awkward emotions fall off me as I cycled. I thought “I bet this is why Helen loves riding”. I’ve always hated riding and you can attribute most of my rides to Bacon made me do it, or I was training for an Ironman (because Bacon motivated me to do it but that’s anotherstory).  But I actually found some levity in my heart through riding.

I cycled past my preferred past-time, hammocking.

I was confident enough to come out of the villages and to take to the main roads (well it was a left turn!) and started reminiscing about all the good cycle moments with Helen. The time I fell off in the carpark looking for the start of the Ironman Staffs bike route. I thought, “gosh no one has that memory anymore” but then I remember Helen laughing as I lay on the floor, my lycra jumbled up with aluminium. “That bloke in the white van having his breakfast is pissing himself!” she enjoyed telling me. So there is a witness still!

That time she co-erced me to go on an “easy Glow ride” and I was terrified but Helen convinced me would be fine (she is very good at this). She mentioned someone was on a trike and I thought it was a  heavy and cumbersome bike - but that someone turned out to be GB Paralympian Hannah Dines who beasted up the final hill of our ride while I walked and pushed and probably moaned!😊

 

The time we both cycled over Autumn Barlow’s head because poor signalling up ahead meant a collision in a chain, at a roundabout in West Lancashire. It was actually quite traumatic at the time, not least for Autumn, but I’m pleased that two great friendships came out of that experience.  

My favourite ride was the one we didn’t do on the second day of an Arse weekend and we went for a walk instead, found a dead lamb, comforted Glynis’s Spanish exchange student. I regret I don’t have many photos of Helen in that walk. I didn’t realise she was going to be such an influence in my life back then! 

Good road surface and a marked cycle lane, makes me think of Nadia :)

I didn’t use my Strava for the whole of this morning’s ride – I only started recording when I realised I was finding levity and wanted to record the ride for Helen but I reckon I did about 10 miles. For someone who really doesn’t like cycling and who was probably last on a bike because Helen made me do it, it was a big deal. I was proud of getting out, proud to have known her. Inspired to see the joy in cycling. I’ve even named a little segment after her. She’s gone but she’s still having an influence: Helen Bacon made me do it. 

PS I spotted a fun run being organised along the River this Sunday and I know what Helen would do... 

Helen and Mike after Salford triathlon which she did during chemo treatment.