All posts tagged Cycling

Do you feel lucky, punk?

99 Problems (but a Croc Ain’t One)

You remember, ages ago, I said I was going to cycle across America on a journey of sporty, spiritual, lady-empowerment? Then I repeated the sentiment a month or so later? I thought it was probably time to reiterate again, just so you know I’m not pissing around, because I’ve even decided on a route, sort of. When I say “route”, I mean a vague set of directions (I settled on Alabama, FYI) spanning approximately 2,500 miles, that I hope will translate into actual roads and paths and all that. But these are minor details and presently I have more pressing concerns. Read more…

Bella Velo Logo

Bella Velo and Other Animals

So look, you know I said I was going to cycle across America, a while ago? I wasn’t even joking, and shiz is getting REAL in my North-East London bat-cave/bedroom of a small, shared flat.

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AMERICA! Eff Yeah!

Inspire a Jen Rides Again

Hello! Welcome back, or you know, maybe just welcome, because it is entirely possible that you’ve managed to resist my mum’s frequent attempts to get you to be interested in me, until now. You may still be fairly disinterested, that’s fine, I’m hoping to win you round with my ever so slightly over-indulgent levels of self-deprecation and a Just Cause (which you should read in the accent of Sean Connery in that film which was like To Kill a Mockingbird but the wrong way round. Well done, Hollywood). I digress.

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'Yonce. I heart her.

Dunwich Dynamo

For anyone who’s been paying attention, you may have noticed I’ve mentioned ONCE OR TWICE this daft Olympic project I had on the go, last year, the point of which had initially been to find my very own Olympic sport. I didn’t really find one specific sport that I had a natural aptitude for, though I did find a few that I wanted to keep up. The one that seems to have stuck is cycling.

It’s been a bit of a learning curve, dealing with aggressive MAMILs (Middle Aged Men In Lycra), irate taxi drivers and even one red-faced white van driver from Chingford who actually tried to knock me off my bike. But I’m not one to be told and Beyonce (my road bike) and I have become firm friends over the year we’ve spent together, dicing with death on the streets of London.

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