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Several thoughts ran through my mind as I fled the pub car park. First and foremost I was delighted that, as far as I could tell, my head was still attached to my body. Secondly, I was equally thrilled by my current power numbers. Such had been my haste to leave the venue, I’d glimpsed down at my head unit at what looked like an absolute power PB. Perhaps that’s the secret to optimum cycling performance: riding for your life.

I’d just engaged in a brief exchange of thoughts and ideas with a gang of bikers, you see, and as I was about to broach the more salient points of the discussion, it had been concluded prematurely with a punch to the head. I was still wearing my helmet, fortunately equipped with anti-rotational impact system MIPS, which went some way to soaking up the heavy right hook. Nevertheless, I thought it probably best to leave immediately. The gentleman who had administered the blow looked like he was just about to launch a follow-up volley of jabs. He also looked a bit like a leather-clad version of the Incredible Hulk. I took my leave. Quickly.

It was late July and I’d been enjoying an evening bimble on my bicycle in the wildest reaches of rural Hampshire. I’d planned an off-road route comprising byways and gravel paths laced together by the occasional stretch of asphalt. It was around 7pm – with rush hour still somewhat in effect – so in order to mitigate the possibility of succumbing to a heavy-headed commuter, tired after a hard day at the office, I erred on the side off-roading. Accidents do happen, tempers sometimes fray – and with gravel bikes able to take on just about anything they’re met with – it seemed wise to minimise tarmac time and take on a pastoral parcours. The byways were dry and running fast. The sun shone low in the sky giving the countryside a golden glow. Birds sang, roe deer ruminated. It was a delightful evening.

Ultimately, however, the joke was on him – I was on a Giant Revolt X Advanced Pro and it eats grass verges for breakfast. But I couldn’t help but wonder why he’d taken such offence to that fact I’d had the sheer audacity to inhabit the same stretch of tarmac as he and his motorcycle. Had he read my travel features in Cycling Weekly and become riled to the point of fury about my lack of organisation? Or was he more of a Ribble man and this was a demonstration of distaste for my Giant?

If the same incident had occurred with the antagonist being an octogenarian on a rickety old moped how would matters have unfolded? Well, in much the same way, I guess. I probably wouldn’t have been punched – although there’s plenty of older folk who could still land a tasty right hook – and I would’ve ridden away (sans power PB) after having had an ultimately pointless argument. A few cross words will never change the world.

So, my lesson from the altercation is simple: to decrease the potential of getting a pummelling and to increase the likelihood of righting what was obviously a pretty significant wrong, in the future, I’ll let a helmet camera do the heavy lifting for me, and I’ll share the footage with the local police force. And if nothing happens – which is invariably the case –l I’ll have footage of a pleasant evening a-wheel to look back on.

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I got punched by a motorbike rider during my gravel jaunt, and set an all-time personal best – but that’s not the moral of the story

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