I can now officially confirm that I have developed thighs of steel and a penchant for wearing lycra!

No, I haven't been attending pre-natal classes in disguise. Although I do practise Pilates on a regular basis where I am bent in directions I never knew existed - being the only man in a class full of lithe, leotard clad females is not as easy as you think - but no, Pilates isn't the cause either.

The real reason for my legs bulging under their man-made fibres is that I've spent the last two weeks cycling over the Alps; from Geneva in Switzerland to Nice on the south coast of France to be precise. However, it wasn't the 520 miles I covered during the journey that I found difficult, nor was it the three 20 mile ascents to 6000 feet I had to contend with (one of which, the Ventoux, was in a force ten gale), nor was it the large number of minor mountain passes (minor meaning the height of Snowdon) I slaved over in low gear that had me beaten, it was the 'helpful' advice of my fellow cyclists that had me frustrated, confused and in more of a spin than my 26 inch wheels.

Perhaps I'd better explain. Before the trip I was more of a runner than a cyclist. I'd only ever cycled hills the size of speed bumps around my home town of Hitchin; using a mountain bike that covered less distance than my daughter walked to school each day. When my brother-in-law, Geoff, invited me on an Alpine tour with his Staffordshire cycling club, I thought, 'Why not?' and immediately spent a day hosing the mud off my Specialised Rockhopper in preparation; only to be told I needed a road bike as mountain bikes were useless for mountains.

I know, I know...it sounded ridiculous to me too, but a little internet research proved him right. Provided you are sticking to tarmac'ed mountain roads in the none newly laid sense, apparently wide tyres provide too much friction that slows you down and makes it harder to cycle over long distances. Which meant I needed a new bike.

Not having a clue what to order, I asked Geoff what bike he used, on his twenty or so trips to date, and promptly ordered the same model. One week later, I lifted my pristine, silver Dawes Audax out of its box and spent several weeks parading the byways and highways of Hertfordshire; like a catwalk cyclist on what I thought was my state of the art, lean, mean cycling machine.

It was only when I met my other fellow cyclists for the first time, as we jostled for space at the check-in queue in Liverpool airport, that my choice of bike was subjected to several dents - most of them in my pride and confidence.

'Is that a 52 - 30 triple you've got there?' asked a sinewy tour member called Dave as he eyed my bike with interest.

'No. It's a Dawes Audax.'

'I'm talking about yer chainset.'

'I don't have a set. I only have the one chain.'

'You'll find it hard climbing the steep stuff with a chainset that big.'

'Oh.' I nodded sagely, not having a clue what he was talking about.

'And those handlebars are angled wrong.'

'They were curved like that when I got them.'

Dave pursed his lips and frowned. 'If yer handlebars are angled like that, you'll have a bad back before the tour's out. You mark my words.'

'Oh.'

'And what's this thing?'

'Ah,' I said, happy to be on more familiar ground. 'That's a soft gel seat. It's designed for comfort. I asked for it specifically.'

'Gel's heavy. You shoulda stuck with the lightweight racing seat. Slimline and vented's what you want. Mark my words, it's just extra weight that'll be a right pain to carry up them hills.'

I was beginning to sense a pain in the backside already, and it had nothing to do with the hills.

'Pedals with toeclips? Yer shoulda gone clipless, mate.'

'I like pedals with toeclips.'

'Yer mad. Clipless are better. Yer shoes are always in the right position. Toeclips are fer amateurs.'

'I'm happy with my feet in toeclips thank you very much.' I should have stopped there, but I was getting cross. 'Toeclips allow me to walk normally when I get off.' I looked down at Dave's feet, which had click-clacked loudly across the airport tiles when he'd arrived. 'I didn't want rigid bike shoes with stupid steel bits sticking out of the sole.'

Dave raised both hands, palms facing out. 'Awright, no need to get uppity. I'm only givin' yer a bit of advice.'

'I'm sorry.' I said shaking my head. 'I thought I'd bought a good bike. It certainly wasn't cheap, and I went for the same make and model as Geoff, so it's a bit of a shock to find out I might have made a mistake.'

Dave shook his head, in what I thought was sympathy, until he shuffled forward in the check-in queue and muttered over his shoulder, 'Nah. You got a good bike there...it's better 'en mine.'

There was a tap on my shoulder and I turned to face another tour member.

'Hi. I'm Jim. You must be Steve?'

'Yes I am.' We shook hands.

'Is that your bike?' asked Jim. 'You're risking it with a 52 - 30 aren't you?'

And so it began all over again...

My confidence in my bike and my cycling abilities improved every day over the next two weeks. I kept up with my fellow cyclists, and I learned not to take their opinions too seriously. They were right about the weight, my bike was the heaviest if you included the panniers and their contents, but I soon discovered that 10 pounds of excess weight was outweighed by legs 10 years younger than the average age of 54 on the tour. Don't get me wrong, I didn't find it easy. Far from it, for cyclists of a more mature age they set a blistering pace and we had some truly colossal climbs, but after three days my legs were becoming honed and toned while their joints and bones were groaning as loudly as their views on foreign food and the Euro conversion rate.

So next time anyone criticises my cycling ability or choice of transport, I know exactly what to say...

'On yer bike, mate!'