I am not convinced I want to ride my bicycle, actually

So, I recently got myself a bike. It was an offer I couldn't refuse - ie. just ride away quietly and don't ask any questions, nosy. It has spent the last few weeks sitting in the entrance hall of my flat. A big, hulking, beaten-up mountain bike in our otherwise very girly flat.

OK, I thought. I have to buy a helmet (safety first!) and a lock. The bare minimum in the way of bike accessories. So I did that a few weeks ago.

Then I took it for the inaugral ride last weekend, to London Bridge and back, as a test run for the trip to work.

It did take me a couple of hours to get there, but that was because I had to keep stopping at every corner and checking the map. And it hurt to sit down for the next week. But gliding through the mostly deserted city, swooping past the empty Farringdon market and over Southwark bridge, I felt exhilarated to be outside and on two wheels.

OK, thought. I really can't do without some lights and a flourescent top, considering I will be riding home in the dark after work. So I went back to the bike shop and bought them.

A few days later, it occured to me that if I am really going to do this, I am going to need a big ass girly saddle. So I went back to the bike shop and bought a wide-ass saddle with strategic cut-outs.

Now all of this gear is sitting at home, waiting for me to attach it to the bike and make good on those (internal) promises, remonstrating me for being such a darn chicken. I tell myself it is fear holding me back - of being crushed under a bus or run down by cars driven by cyclist-hating rednecks - but in truth, it is at least 20% laziness and 10% inertia.