Calendar An icon of a desk calendar. Cancel An icon of a circle with a diagonal line across. Caret An icon of a block arrow pointing to the right. Email An icon of a paper envelope. Facebook An icon of the Facebook "f" mark. Google An icon of the Google "G" mark. Linked In An icon of the Linked In "in" mark. Logout An icon representing logout. Profile An icon that resembles human head and shoulders. Telephone An icon of a traditional telephone receiver. Tick An icon of a tick mark. Is Public An icon of a human eye and eyelashes. Is Not Public An icon of a human eye and eyelashes with a diagonal line through it. Pause Icon A two-lined pause icon for stopping interactions. Quote Mark A opening quote mark. Quote Mark A closing quote mark. Arrow An icon of an arrow. Folder An icon of a paper folder. Breaking An icon of an exclamation mark on a circular background. Camera An icon of a digital camera. Caret An icon of a caret arrow. Clock An icon of a clock face. Close An icon of the an X shape. Close Icon An icon used to represent where to interact to collapse or dismiss a component Comment An icon of a speech bubble. Comments An icon of a speech bubble, denoting user comments. Comments An icon of a speech bubble, denoting user comments. Ellipsis An icon of 3 horizontal dots. Envelope An icon of a paper envelope. Facebook An icon of a facebook f logo. Camera An icon of a digital camera. Home An icon of a house. Instagram An icon of the Instagram logo. LinkedIn An icon of the LinkedIn logo. Magnifying Glass An icon of a magnifying glass. Search Icon A magnifying glass icon that is used to represent the function of searching. Menu An icon of 3 horizontal lines. Hamburger Menu Icon An icon used to represent a collapsed menu. Next An icon of an arrow pointing to the right. Notice An explanation mark centred inside a circle. Previous An icon of an arrow pointing to the left. Rating An icon of a star. Tag An icon of a tag. Twitter An icon of the Twitter logo. Video Camera An icon of a video camera shape. Speech Bubble Icon A icon displaying a speech bubble WhatsApp An icon of the WhatsApp logo. Information An icon of an information logo. Plus A mathematical 'plus' symbol. Duration An icon indicating Time. Success Tick An icon of a green tick. Success Tick Timeout An icon of a greyed out success tick. Loading Spinner An icon of a loading spinner. Facebook Messenger An icon of the facebook messenger app logo. Facebook An icon of a facebook f logo. Facebook Messenger An icon of the Twitter app logo. LinkedIn An icon of the LinkedIn logo. WhatsApp Messenger An icon of the Whatsapp messenger app logo. Email An icon of an mail envelope. Copy link A decentered black square over a white square.

Ken Fyne: Too much time in the saddle has left me walking like John Wayne

The Tour of Britain cycle race will arrive in Aberdeen on Sunday September 12.
The Tour of Britain cycle race will arrive in Aberdeen on Sunday September 12.

Despite what you might think initially, Jock Rash isn’t actually an overly enthusiastic or impulsive Scot. Life would probably be considerably more comfortable for me if he, or more precisely it, was.

Sadly, the reality is much more down to earth. Well, if not exactly down to earth, down somewhere not usually discussed in polite society.

When the Tour of Britain cycle race reaches its thrilling climax in Aberdeen tomorrow (September 12), I regrettably won’t be there to see it. I had every intention of joining the crowds thronging the route from Stonehaven to the city, via swathes of the glorious Aberdeenshire countryside, but it isn’t to be.

My best-laid plans haven’t come up to scratch. Or rather, they have, but not as I intended. That’s a real pain, literally, as I’ve been a big bicycle fan ever since my first trike, with pedals sticking out from the front wheel, arrived from Santa one Christmas morning many years ago.

Ken has been a fan of cycling since receiving a trike as a Christmas present many years ago.

My range of bikes over the years was progressively a passport to freedom, a means of exploring the beautiful countryside around my childhood home, a cheap and environmentally sensible form of transport, and also an enjoyable healthy way to keep my body in shape.

Not necessarily the shape I aspire to, I must confess. I’m still more a bacon and egger than a Schwarzenegger.

No matter, in recent years I’ve been happy to be seen in public as a “mamil” – a middle-aged man in Lycra – ignoring unkind comparisons to a Michelin advert.

My grand plan for this weekend was to cycle all the way from Fyne Place to stand by the Tour route, among masses that would put the average weekly attendance at Pittodrie to shame, and cheer on the incredible athletes who will have completed 815 gruelling racing miles from Penzance by the time they arrive at the Granite City’s seafront.

Action from the Tour of Britain Stage 3 earlier this week.

OK, so if I couldn’t cycle all the way, perhaps I could drive to a spot nearby, park inconspicuously, then clamber on the bike and make it look as though I’d cycled for miles.

You see, I don’t do hills. Something about my power to weight ratio, apparently. Basically, my weight is greater than my legs can propel me upwards, dammit.

I’m astonished that cyclists from Belgium or the Netherlands, where hills are rarer than memorable melodies at a Stormzy concert, can whizz up them as though they don’t exist. Not so me. I do more walking uphill than pedalling, pretending to any passing motorists that I’ve instead just paused for a quick drink from my bidon.

I obviously need more training and more miles on the bike, so this week I pedalled away from home for the first time in many months, full of good long-distance intentions. I hadn’t bargained on the speedy arrival of the aforementioned jock rash – not a fellow cyclist but a distinctly uncomfortable complaint that roughly equates to sledging stark-naked down a Saharan sand dune, without a sledge.

It means I now walk like actor John Wayne and would be totally unable to halt an escaping pig in a narrow passageway.

You know you’re in trouble when you end up walking like John Wayne.

Bearing in mind also that the saddles of most racing bikes are instruments of torture, not comfort, if unused to them, cycling anywhere now would require me to rely on vast quantities of petroleum jelly, chamois-leather underpants and somewhere discreet well away from prying eyes to apply either of them.

I’ll just watch the race live on TV but, in traditional cycling style, shout “Chapeau!” to those who cross the finish line.

My embarrassing discomfort is a pity as I’ve read that Aberdeen University is currently looking for folk to donate their bodies to medical research and training. Knowing that my body is like a Greek temple – in an advanced state of decay with bits falling off daily – I am tempted.

Students might find it fascinating to dissect my crumbling cadaver and conclude that had things been different, they might have been in the presence of two-wheeled greatness.

They’d likely get a laugh at the state of my usually unseen saddle-sore spots.

It’s a bit of a bummer for me, but like Schwarzenegger, I’ll be back. Declaring exactly when might be a bit rash, though.