I had a race with a middle-aged woman last night. I'm not the fastest rider out there, but heading home a couple of nights ago I thought I had the beating of the lady in her fifties riding her sit-up-and-beg in a full length skirt and delicately placed helmet.

I, the urban warrior, with youth on my side, thought I was up to the task. It turns out I was sadly deluded. The problem, it would appear, is that I follow the rules.

When faced with a red light I stopped instinctively. When a bus pulled out into my path I forebade myself the escape of hopping onto the pavement for even the shortest of stretches. And at every hold-up, at every opportunity to catch my breath, my nemesis would appear sedately beside me. I would pull away from the lights and immediately gain a ten yard lead, but another 50 yards on and I was stationary once more.

Finally I broke free. Half a mile of uninterrupted free-flow. Up a slight incline, then pedalling against a headwind as the road turned downhill. I looked back. She was nowhere to be seen. I just missed the lights at the bottom, and endured a 5 roads sequence change, at the end of which my lead had been whittled to nought.

The cat and mouse lasted a full 2 and a half miles, at the end of which (she peeled off left through a filter as I was once more immobile) I had to concede that in the city sheer flat speed is by no means a guage on your pace. She will have reached the same point in the same time with less effort and without looking like some pillock trying to get home in the fastest possible time.

You would have thought this lesson would sink in and that I would take it easy the following day with this knowledge in mind. But someone pulled out in front of me 2 miles into my commute. He was middle-aged and pannier laden. And I knew I could take him.

.anth