Badminton, Big Toes and Bikes.

Last weekend the Woods family decamped to Center Parcs at Elveden Forest. We go most years and have done so since the late 1990’s. We like the familiarity of the place; we know where everything is, how it all works and we enjoy the various activities. Granted it isn’t cheap; however much you have paid, you only get your accommodation and use of the Sub-Tropical Swimming Paradise for your money. Everything else, from playing badminton or tennis; from archery to golf; from photography courses to cupcake making, costs extra. The price you pay includes no food either, so you cater for yourselves or you go to the restaurants (or, as most people do, a little of both).

A typical villa at Center Parcs

Some years ago the quality dipped; old fashioned villas, poor service and some cleanliness issues together with an inflexible pricing policy and difficulty booking activities before arrival put us off. Fortunately, Center Parcs got their act together on all of these issues. A more flexible pricing policy (we booked our stay during a "sale" period) meant that we had an Executive Lodge only a 5 minute walk from the Village Square for a very reasonable price. The villa was very well equipped (en suites to both bedrooms) with a modern kitchenette, television and DVD player and comfy furniture. Activities can now all be booked on-line before arrival and the park is clean and well maintained, and the service is generally good.

While the weather last weekend was cooler and duller than it has been of late, it was still warm enough and crucially, dry, so there was no chance of the weather spoiling our break. Don't believe the hype, despite often being described as “the holiday the weather can’t spoil,” a holiday at Center Parcs is just as susceptible to the weather as anywhere else as a lot of the activities are outdoors and no one enjoys a ten minute walk in the pouring rain to go for a meal!  Center Parcs covers about 400 acres,  some of the villas are a whole lot more than ten minutes walk from the Village Square, which is where the restaurants are and where the swimming and a whole lot of other activities take place, hence a lot of visitors bring or rent bikes. In fact, this year, for the first time ever we took our own as we have recently acquired a Brompton folding bike. The bike was ridden mostly by Val, although Sarah and Rebecca had brief goes. I however, refrained (more of which in a moment).

Val, with bike, near one of Center Parc's lakes.

At one point I thought that I might be refraining from the whole holiday, as the day before we departed I accidentally kicked a concrete step so hard that I thought that I had broken my toe. Actually, for all I know I did break it, since a couple of years ago I broke a small bone in my hand and when I had it x-rayed, was told that I had broken my hand before, something of which I was completely unaware. So anyway, my toe had turned an interesting shade of purple and was extremely uncomfortable, causing me to walk with a limp-cum-hobble sort of gait, grimacing every now and then and generally grumbling about the discomfort. Despite this I managed to play badminton and tennis, albeit from a more static position than normal. I decided that swimming, where I have a habit of stubbing my toe anyway, was probably unwise, so I stayed away from the pool (sorry, Sub-Tropical Swimming Paradise) and the rapids.

The source of some discomfort.

To return to the bike, even had my toe been in full working order, I would not have been riding. There is a popular belief that once we have learned to ride a bike, we never lose that ability. We even have a saying especially for it; “It’s just like riding a bike,” we say to suggest that a skill, any skill, once acquired, is never lost; that even after the passage of a number of years we can pick up an activity again and, with the minimum of effort, be as proficient as ever. I can honestly say that this is not the case; well, not for me anyway.

The Brompton.

On one of our early visits to Center Parcs, and having booked a villa that was a decent distance from the Village Square, we hired bikes. Now I hadn’t ridden since I was about ten years old, but I had little doubt that even after the passage of more than three decades, I would have little difficulty in picking it up again. I know that I am not renowned for my boundless optimism, but come on, how hard could it be?  When I had learned to ride as a child it had not been long before the stabilisers (training wheels) were off and I was whizzing about all over the place. As it turned out, learning to ride again was hard; very hard.

Rather than attempt to ride the bike from the Cycle Centre, I decided to push it a modest distance so that I didn’t have an audience when I took my first, undoubtedly very wobbly, first ride in over a quarter of a century. I got on, fully anticipating a false start or two, and tried to pedal. I didn’t so much wobble as topple, hopping along the path in an ungainly and inelegant manner. I tried again: more hopping ensued, but very little pedalling. It was then that it dawned on me that cycling has four key elements: pedalling, steering, braking and balancing, and this last one, balancing, is most easily achieved while actually moving. Almost at the same time it occurred to me that I could either pedal, or brake, or steer, but could not do all three, or even two of them, simultaneously. This meant that moving and by extension, balancing, was completely out of the question.

The remainder of that holiday was spent with my bike chained up outside the villa while everyone else rode and I walked everywhere, with the occasional attempt made, more in hope than expectation, to ride. I have never since bothered to hire a bike, even when the rest of the family have.

So now we have a Brompton folding bike, bought second hand through the internet and which my wife has encouraged me to try to ride. After two or three abortive attempts, I have concluded that “It’s just like riding a bike” is literally not true as far as I am concerned. I may have another go one day, so if you see a middle aged, balding man, hopping along astride a folding bike; cursing, swearing and sweating profusely, that may well be me.