No hands (for about 2.5seconds)

Apparently there's a guy who rides down Smith St while reading a book.

I hate him.

I've never actually seen him, mind you, but I hate him.

He's endangering others - but that's not the most annoying bit.

There's no way he could be reading anything of substance if he can still navigate traffic - but that's not it either.

He's obviously preening - but that, too, pales into insignificance, because the truth is as simple as it is damning...

...try as I might, I can't bloody do it.

One hand is fine, but as soon as my left hand index finger leaves the ergo grip the bike feigns one way and then keels to the other as if leaning into a sudden invisible corner without any input from me, the apparent decision maker.  The result is the same regardless of speed or spin, surface or incline. I was busy making excuses for myself regarding this very thing as I rode in this morning (perhaps one of my legs is an inch longer than the other and I never noticed) when I stumbled upon something seemingly unrelated to do with holding a line.

You see, for some time I've been convinced that the key to sorting out my balance (and perhaps coming to grips with f%$#ing trackstands) is to work on holding a straight line at low speed. I'd noticed I was especially bad at this several times in the past. At one point, for whatever reason, I chose to modify my pedalling technique. Where I usually push the ball of my foot flat into the pedal to apply maximum force (so that at its forwardmost the sole of my shoe is at about 10 o'clock) this time I angled my foot down as far as was comfortable without losing grip - say, 8 o'clock. Suddenly things smoothed out, even during my more locomotive, I'd-sooner-have-my-knee-caps-fly-off-than-concede-one-more-gear-to-this-headwind moments.

I waited until a flat stretch of Merri Creek Trail.

One hand. Slight re-adjust.

One hand and 4 digits. No noticeable difference.

Two hands...

It was as if I was scooping at the pedals with my feet. Rather than pushing the bike from left to right by stabbing my soles forward, I was gently reigning the bike back in with my feet - ironing out the many small imperfections of balance.

I say this as if I rode with my thumbs in my ears and my tongue lolling out all the way down St. George's Rd. In reality it was a handful of meters, a couple of seconds at best.

But let there be no mistake, it was progress.