"Let me tell you about your bike"

In which I realise I have become an expert in mansplaining

Hello friends!

Before I get onto this week’s essay, I have some exciting news, for anyone who read my post about coming out two weeks ago, and wished there were more opportunities to go for a ride with a peloton of fellow LGBTQ+ people.

On Sunday the 4th June, in London, this is exactly what we’ll be doing. Together with Rapha, I’ll be riding around some of the city’s gay landmarks, and finishing at Queer Britain, the UK’s first museum dedicated to LGBTQ+ history.

Tickets are free, but limited in number - and as a newsletter subscriber, you’re right at the front of the queue, because this ride won’t be advertised anywhere else for the next 24 hours.

So hurry up and book, because we reckon this one will sell out very quickly!

As well as a chilled couple of hours’ ride in excellent company, we’ll be offering a prize for the queerest bike, and I look forward to seeing your interpretations of what that might mean.

See you there!

And now for this week’s essay:

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I met a meta-mansplainer once.

It would have been sometime in early 2013, because I was on my way home from a day’s courier work on the touring bike I’d recently ridden across Asia, and had stopped to buy something in a newsagent in Peckham. When I returned to the bike stand outside, a man around my own age was locking up his bike next to mine, and we smiled when we caught each other’s eye.

“Nice bike,” he said, nodding politely at mine. And then he stopped fiddling with his lock for a moment, and eyeballed it more thoroughly, with a note of theatrical fascination.

An emergency wheel rebuild in Japan. Thanks to Kate Lines for the photo.

“I like what you’ve done here,” he remarked approvingly, bending to examine my rear rack, which had an old inner tube woven in and out of it, mostly in case I needed it to cushion or attach something, though I’ll admit I had made a small effort to keep it neat.

“Heh – thanks,” I responded, tightening my courier bag around my chest and getting ready to leave.

“Ah, sorry, I couldn’t resist doing an inspection,” he continued, by way of farewell. “Bike guys often do.”