Two night’s sleep later, and following on from Christmas Day, and the next 24 hours spent ignoring the bike to play with what I would still argue is the best toy, and indeed the best pirate ship, ever made – the Black Pearl gets stolen too much and The Flying Dutchman is just really scary – and it was time to learn how to ride a bicycle.

This, my father quite correctly decided, would be a good laugh to get on video camera, but funnily enough, it’s one of the most vivid memories I have from that time in my childhood.

“We watch it back on Boxing Day 2018, one day short of exactly 20 years later. There’s been a whole lot of bike riding since then”

We went out to the little loop of road just outside our house, then set about learning in the traditional manner. Dad filmed. And we watch it back together on Boxing Day 2018, one day short of exactly 20 years later. There’s been a whole lot of bike riding since then.

“You didn’t want to be seen to be moaning on camera,” laughed dad. “You can kind of see your face turning into a winge at one point, but I’d turn it off then and check you were alright.”

Of course, when I was asked the next day, back on the camcorder, on the safety of the old red couch in our living room, if I had crashed when I was learning to ride the new bike, I offered a convincing “no” in reply. You can hear dad giggle away behind the camera in 1998 on the television, and indeed, both of us laughing on the couch watching it back in 2018.

All’s well that ends well.

“Anything for the edit clip, though, right?”

And if there’s one thing I still have in common with that six year old in terms of cycling, it’s definitely the fact that I still crash an awful lot, and I often still hope nobody saw it happen!

It was on that same bike that I’d learn to ride on the roads, desperately try to wheelie, and discover the adrenaline and freedom that came with riding a bicycle as I raced down the hill at the top of our road without my hands on the handlebars.

Totally, like, gnarly, dude.

***

It wasn’t until I went to university that I really got into mountain biking, at the University of Stirling, set in the Dumyat Hills, at the western extremity of the Ochil Hills in central Scotland. I’d ride my hybrid pretty much everywhere, so it was only natural that one day, that took me deep into the hills beyond the university campus, on a weekend morning ride.

Powering into the rolling hills, I decided, somewhat naively, to leave the tarmac go off track down a muddy trail and see how things went. Not that well, you’ll be completely surprised to know. It was extremely bumpy. I had no suspension. I was shaking about – to quote Alkaline Trio’s famous proclamation – like a dog shitting razorblades. But it was fun. I was exploring new places. Riding a bike in a completely different way. I ended up exploring for hours and and it got me eager to find out more about bikes, and in general, more about trail riding.

“Ruptured spleens and near-death experiences in the dreamy greens of Slovenia”

Before then, mountain biking had been sporadic trips into the hills, a handful of times a year on a bike not really suited for the task. Not long after this, came my first real mountain bike – a bright orange, retro Specialized Stumpjumper, which was later replaced by my first full-sus bike, a Giant Anthem, when my love of riding was confirmed as more than just a phase (alas, skydiving club and the campus radio society did not make it past the ‘phase’ period).

There’s something about the mixture of exhilaration and meditative qualities in mountain biking that got me completely hooked. And from there, it’s so easy for it to become your life. You find the community online. You find the edits and the films. You watch the downhill world cup, get your favourites – hiya Sam Hill – and discover the magazines and the culture that surrounds it all. It’s incredibly cliche, but it, y’know, becomes a lifestyle and all.

There was no university club, but rides in Dumyat became more regular, and turned into extremely regular trips up the Pentland Hills when I got back to Edinburgh after university. The same freedom I’d felt growing up, flying down hills no-handed became even more than that – it became a real way to get away from tech and the strains of the modern world and to properly embrace nature, in such a full and fulfilling way, while still living in the city.

Those rides became trips to Glentress and Fort William to ride, which grew into trips abroad to Meribel, ruptured spleens and near-death experiences in the dreamy greens of Slovenia, riding adventures to New Zealand and America to ride and write about riding and then eventually full circle, back to watching those original videos of my dad and miniature me, learning to ride that beautiful blue bike I was first given in 1998.

Think back about your history on a bike, from the very start to the finish, if you ever hit a riding slump. It’s an easy reminder that it’s about an awful lot more than getting from A to B.

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