Ben Machell goes for gold at a London stag weekend...
A stag do! Last weekend! And I was invited! I’d never been more psyched.
Not just because I was looking forward to drinking myself blind — I can’t do that disingenuous thing of pretending not to enjoy the occasional bout of ritualised heavy drinking — but because it was all going to happen here, in London.
Can you imagine? The whole thing felt decadently convenient.
So after a Friday night of lager and world class Punjabi cuisine in Whitechapel, it was an early start the next morning for a trip to the Olympic velodrome. I’ve always loved the velodrome, in the sense that I think it looks cool. But to actually go inside? And ride a bike around a track with an incline of 42 degrees? That had never crossed my mind, primarily because I’m terrible at riding bikes, being a toxic mixture of cowardly, clumsy and weirdly top-heavy. But the groom loves cycling so there I was, having my feet strapped into a bicycle with no brakes — of course no brakes! — as the lingering aroma of world class Punjabi cuisine wafted around the arena where Team GB won so many golds.
I started pedalling. It felt weird. I was on the flat bit going about two miles an hour and my heart was already pounding. There were other people on the track, not part of our stag party, who’d obviously spent the past six months dreaming of this moment. They were wearing proper cycling kit rather than a stinky, baggy football top, and they didn’t giggle nervously when going round the corners. They also didn’t reek of stale Cobra and karahi lamb chop masala. They were basically professionals.
I just kept pedalling. And as it turns out, it’s almost impossible to stop pedalling on those bikes. So very much against my will, I kept getting faster and faster. To my horror, I began to overtake the real cyclists simply in order to avoid them. This meant I found myself going higher and higher up the incline, which meant I had to pedal faster and faster, which meant I had to overtake more people, which meant I had to go even higher and even faster.
As I hit terminal velocity, I was like a hungover Bradley Wiggins. It was horrible, but somehow, I survived. After that it was showers, then off to karaoke. That was no less terrifying. Perhaps I’ll tell you about it next time.
Read more from Ben Machell here.
