My photoessay is about a group of intrepid cyclists, all forty-plus, including my parents who are 60 (Mum) and 65 (Dad).
In the past ten years or so I have witnessed their increasing commitment to cycling with increasing bewilderment, but also pride.
The bikes have increased in both price and number (there is now a little stable of six bikes or so in the house), the gear is more elaborate, the distances are getting longer and the group is getting bigger – and tighter.
These people don’t only get up on Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays every week to be fit – they do it because they love the freedom and company.
They catch up, have a yarn, a ride, then pile into a café to replace all the carbs they just burned.
In the case of the odd riding holiday to places like the Pinnacles, the rides are followed with beer.
Lots of it. It’s inspiring to see two people I love get such satisfaction and companionship from an activity that remains so simple underneath the fancy gear.
Mum and Dad live for their weekend rides.
They egg each other on, ride each other into the ground –then drink me under the table.