There are events in every man’s life that remind him of his age and reduced abilities. Don’t worry, I’m not going to catalogue my failings, (just ask my wife, she’ll give you a list). I don’t usually recognise the significance of these life-changing events at the time they occur, but recently that changed.

It was one of those ‘Road to Damascus’ experiences.

I was in the café at the garden centre, trying, and failing, to keep Charlie and Douglas, (our canine scavengers), under control, whilst my wife was selecting plants for me to kill. We accept that this exercise is a necessary and repetitive overhead cost, to create the illusion that we have some ability to cultivate a garden.

The shop was obviously a meeting point for men who enjoyed subjecting themselves to structured torture. They were re-fuelling on carbohydrates before setting off for something called, (as far as I recall), exercise. ​

My attention was drawn to a fleet of five German luxury estate cars that pulled into the car park. The drivers promptly removed impressive cycles from the cavernous rear storage areas of their individual cars. ​

The cyclists were compulsive viewing. If they had said they were going to a fancy dress party, I wouldn’t have argued. Their fluorescent pink and yellow zebra outfits were made of Lycra, and they all seemed to have bought kit that was at least two sizes too small for them. ​

Can I create for you the mental image of an adolescent girl, wearing her first pair of stiletto heels? Not only did these cyclists have that characteristic ungainly walk, but they also produced the same insecure metallic tapping noise. Subsequent enquiries revealed that these men were wearing metal clips on their shoes that locked onto the pedals. I did get a detailed explanation from a cycling enthusiast. I’m afraid that my reaction fell into the blanket category of, ‘I wish I’d never asked’.

This was the scene for my life-changing experience. I examined my well-cushioned figure and tried to visualise it in Day-Glo Lycra. ​

This was the moment. The moment I knew that I would never ride a bike again.

By Andrew Green of Mill on the Hill