So, having sold my car at the weekend in favour of cycling to work and upping the exercise regime for Two Fat Laddies, I have to admit to being fairly excited.
No more jams, the wind whistling through my hair (had it not been shaved off) and generally being out and about in the fresh air.
Far less the substantial wad of money to be saved in petrol, tax, insurance, servicing and so on.
And Monday morning was a good start.
Up at the crack of dawn, I reached the edge of the city boundary and breezed in via my old stomping grounds.
Through Sighthill, past my mum’s home in Stenhouse, driving by Tynecastle, Callum Anderson’ pub Dicken’s, along Princes Street and stopping off at the Snax Café to pick up a scrambled egg roll and into work.
There I deposited a supply of freshly ironed and neatly folded shirts I’d prepared the night before, a quick freshen up and ready for action all before 7am.
After work should have been simple enough too but with the added bonus of a pit stop and optional feed and cuppa at my maw’s.
But driving through Edinburgh between 5pm and 6pm is a far different proposition to it’s AM counterpart when the streets are empty.
Buses and trucks roar past leaving you wobbling in their slipstream, drivers are more hurried and anxious to end their day.
All in all though, it’s not too bad. The cycle lanes could be better, drivers could park more considerately, yet for a newbie like me it was okay.
Across the years I’ve been only an occasional cyclist, but a competent one. I would go as far as to say sensible.
Which was why rather than tackle what I know to be a particularly hairy roundabout at Stenhouse Cross I opted to take a shortcut down the back streets.
Traffic is minimal there, the roads are wide and sound and well known to me from my time living round the corner.
All fine in theory, unless you factor in White Van Man.
I saw him parked on the other side of the road, blethering to his mate who I assume he’d just dropped off after their own working day.
He was laughing and joking, trading banter, while I plugged away on my Ridgeback happy the rain had kept off.
Yet as he laughed and joked he decided to pull out sharply, head hanging out the window still trading insults and waving to his mate.
It’s a fair bet he’d looked ahead of him first, he may even have glanced in his mirrors.
But he sure as Hell hadn’t seen me, which is why he managed to steer into my path and knock me flying into the parked cars opposite.
Fortunately enough for me it was at a slow enough speed to anticipate what may be about to happen and I escaped with no more than a sore hand, bruised shin and even more of a bruised ego.
The bike was okay too, but an innocent car that took the impact of my being dunted into it may need some Turtle Wax.
The driver’s mate shouted, he braked sharply and leaped out, visibly shocked at what he’d done.
It would be fair to assume we had a short, sharp conversation about the incident and he was left eager to apologise.
But the point was what if it had been someone else, a kid perhaps.
I’m not going to be like some reformed smoker and go all Holier than Thou about the virtues of cycling or the evils of car drivers.
In what is National Bike Week though, hopefully for it may serve notice at least that next time WVM pulls out, it may be worth not just a glance but a proper look, else someone might not be quite as lucky.
This morning’s ride was not nearly as dramatic, I’m pleased to say, but did introduce me to another peril.
Not much can be done about that.