Last Friday, on the way to work, I collided with a stationary car. In my feeble defence, it had started moving when the traffic lights turned green and it pulled away in front of me. It stopped its left-hand turn when a pedestrian decided to make a last-minute dash for the little green man. I missed this important detail, and smacked into the back right hand corner of the station wagon.

"Are you alright?" asked the other cyclist at the intersection, who was right behind me, as I hobbled over to the kerb to check my bike - and myself - for any damage that might prevent my resuming my journey.

"Yeah, I just need to get my balance back."

Bike and self appeared generally undamaged - excluding superficial grazes and equivalent scuffs in the handlebar tape - so I continued on to work, with an embarrassing story to tell all my friends.

I'd been planning to take the bike into Cheeky Transport for some TLC anyway, since the Gong Ride is coming up in a few weeks and having brakes and gears in full working order is a good idea if one is going to be sharing the road with 10,000 other cyclists (of varying levels of experience). This little vehicular incident was as good a reminder as any; I dropped the Allegro in on Saturday.

Fast forward to Tuesday night, where I collected my freshly tinkered bike, experienced a random, spontaneous nosebleed (the altitude of Cheeky Transport is clearly higher than it appears), and left the recumbent bike for some TLC of its own. The front disc brakes on the 'bent have started rubbing and squealing - for reasons beyond my limited mechanical insight to correct.

With a newly tuned, nicely shifting and braking, Allegro bicycle at my disposal I headed forth - first to the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital post-natal ward to visit Fiona and Mel and their new daughter Zoe, and thence on to home.

Coasting down my own street, I had to brake as a car pulled off the kerb without indicating. The driver stopped to let me pass, I rolled another 50 metres, pulled into the empty space in front of my house, braked to stop - and my shoes failed to unclip. I tipped over onto my left-hand side, yelling at the inevitable betrayal of gravity, and hit the ground. Tacoed both the Allegro's wheels.

Clearly that slight difference between the cleats required for the pedals on the Allegro and the cleats required for the pedals on the 'bent, is enough of a difference to matter.

I will standardise my cleats, I will standardise my pedals. I will be grateful this didn't happen at traffic lights. I will apply arnica montana cream to my purple knees. I will be back at Cheeky Transport for the third time this week.

The cold weather has arrived with a vengeance.

I wimped out on cycling to work on Friday, but it was with justifiable reason: 60 km/h (37 mph) winds, with gusts up to 90 km/h (55 mph), accompanied by 70 mm of rainfall. Not so severe as the weather conditions further north - a ship driven aground at Newcastle, and a stretch of the Old Pacific Highway swept away at Somersby - but perilous enough for yours truly on a bicycle.

With the change in the weather, I'm having to reassess my commuting clothing. Last year I added a variety of colourful long socks (viva Pippi Longstocking!), and high-visibility work shirts to the wardrobe to cope with the morning chill. I'm not sure if I've grown more fragile in the intervening months, or whether it's colder this time around, but this year that's just not cutting it.

The cycling leggings I bought to wear on the recumbent (I may not be able to grow the long grey beard, but that's no reason I can't look the part!) on top of the knee-high socks are keeping my lower half comfortable, but there's more to me than legs!


So I've purchased a Submerino wool jersey from GroundEffect (in orange, naturally - loving it) and a new pair of full-fingered gloves (haven't had a chance to try them out yet) to armour myself against the elements. Hopefully this will suffice to get me to and from work without anything turning blue.

It's nowhere near Ice Bike territory, but then again I'm a thin-blooded Aussie. We don't get ice and snow hereabouts.

Clunk. Click click. Hisssssssss.

It's not a sound you ever want to hear coming from your rear wheel. I felt it as much as heard it this morning, about 2kms into my morning commute, and brought the recumbent to a stop.

At first I thought it was my waterbottle again, repeating the grand escape it had made yesterday afternoon - only choosing this time to hit the wheel of my bike instead of rolling under a passing car. The hiss of escaping air quickly put paid to that idea.

A quick inspection revealed a piece of metal, a length of wire about the thickness of a carpentry nail, curved rather like a fishhook. It had driven itself into the tyre, gouged a crescent-shaped slice in the kevlar, punched a good sized hole through the inner tube.

I walked home.

I haven't been riding to work since the beginning of January.

A combination of too many years at a computer desk, extended time in the saddle over the Christmas break, and the final straw of several hours crouched in the garden left me with a pinched nerve (C6 on C7, for the curious) in my neck. I'd thought that the waves of pins and needles running up my left forearm would go away when I stood up; two weeks later I was still waiting.

Several months - and a good number of physiotherapist visits - later, I've maxed out the physio bonus points on my private health insurance. I'm having to watch my posture (James has been commenting frequently on how upright I stand of late), and perform neck retraction stretches at 15 minute intervals, but things finally seem to be under control.

I'm still not entirely symptom-free, and I'm cautious about triggering a relapse by jumping back on my bike. On the other hand, I've also been going stir crazy from the lack of exercise (and the lack of fun!) that the loss of my daily bike commute entails.

This past week, however, I've found an alternative. I've borrowed Moz's recumbent bicycle - not the one pictured above, but similar: short wheel base, above-seat steering. It's taking me awhile to get the hang of the different handling of this strange machine, but I'm back on two wheels again and - better yet - I'm not getting any of those prickling sensations in my arm while I'm riding.

I'm starting to worry, though, about the prickling in my chin. Is that my recumbent rider's long grey beard starting to grow in?

I've just returned from my first Critical Mass ride, across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, in the company of several hundred other cyclists. The entourage included several bikes towing stereos on trailers, five NSW Police officers - on bikes, in uniform, and presumably on duty - and a number of primary schoolers on their little BMX bikes.


Still, I'm not sure I'm clear on the point of Critical Mass.

I was waiting at the lights in North Sydney, with the rest of the Mass dispersing and the police cars that escorted us across the bridge still sitting with their lights flashing. Two preschoolers, standing waiting at the pedestrian crossing, were wondering out loud why there were so many bikes and police cars. "I think they want more bike paths," said their mum. "There are parts of the city that don't have bike paths, and they want to be able to ride there."

"It's more about making people aware that bikes are allowed on the road, too, just like other vehicles," I interjected, fishing for a better off-the-cuff explanation based on my limited understanding of the philosophy behind this organised coincidence. "There you go," said she to the kids, though I didn't hear their response because the lights changed.

But is it about making cyclists visible, or is it about having fun? Because I'm not sure that the two are compatible for all values of having fun. Zooming along the tunnel onto the bridge, whooping with joy at the experience, cheerfully ringing your bicycle bell as you roll down Macquarie Street - these are visible, and these are fun. Standing on the top tube of your bike in the midst of a pack of inequally experienced cyclists, in the view of the motorists waiting on the other side of the road, may be fun but I can't help thinking it does a lot to reinforce the negative stereotypes of "those damned irresponsible cyclists".

Or maybe I'm just turning into a cranky old woman.

Edited to add:
The Daily Telegraph are being their usual inflammatory selves about the matter. I think that's me in the foreground of the photo they used.

I've been trying to shake off the latest office flu since a scratchy cough started up last Wednesday; I spent Monday and Tuesday in bed as a result. I worked yesterday, but wasn't quite up to the feat of riding my bike; today, therefore, was my first time on the Allegro in almost a week.

And gosh it's nice to be back.

In other cycling-related news, John at Cheeky Transport now has contact lenses and no longer looks quite so much like Gordon Freeman.