“When I cycle, I am Peter the man, not Peter with dementia.”
Peter
Bicycles have been a lifelong passion for me. From a young age, the simple act of riding offered a sense of liberation and joy. At fifteen, I first experienced the unique thrill of riding a penny farthing. Years later, returning to this iconic bicycle felt incredibly natural, as if no time had passed at all. Stepping onto the rear step, scooting to gain momentum, and then smoothly mounting the saddle – it was, quite simply, like riding a bike again!
My diagnosis of dementia has reshaped the significance of cycling in my life. No longer able to drive, cycling has become my crucial pathway to maintaining independence. For me, cycling is more than just transportation; it’s a liberating force. It’s like a balloon, lifting me high above the heavy fog of dementia. In this elevated space, I can breathe freely and think clearly, a stark contrast to the suffocating feeling of being grounded by my condition.
My relationship with my penny farthing is truly a love affair. Its simplicity is a major part of its appeal. Modern bicycles with gears have become confusing for me, making the penny farthing an ideal solution. It has no gears to grapple with and no brakes to complicate things. Punctures, a common cycling frustration, are also not a concern. The only real challenges are navigating modern road features like roundabouts and traffic lights – considerations that were thankfully absent when these magnificent bikes were originally designed in the 1870s, long before the Edwardian era even began!
Some years ago, although my sense of time has become hazy, I undertook a 6-day challenge riding my penny farthing. The purpose was to raise both funds and awareness for dementia. My partner, Deb, who I affectionately call my “external memory” among other things, meticulously documented the details of this journey in our book. Interestingly, it remains a book that, due to my condition, I may never be able to read.
