MY WIFE says I’m in danger of becoming what she calls “a bike bore”, which is a little unfortunate because that’s what I’m going to write about this week: cycling.

Lucky for you that I am going to brighten things up at the end by telling you my favourite new joke, which has a cycling theme.

Regular readers of this column may recall that I took up cycling about a year ago, and apart from putting the bike away in the garage for most of the sodden winter we’ve just had to endure, I’ve been in the saddle most days.

I have a special app on my phone that not only tells me how far I’ve cycled and what hills I’ve tackled, but it also draws a little map so I can show the family where I’ve been, in case they are interested. I have a funny feeling they are not quite as taken with it as I am.

I’ve especially been clocking up the miles in the last few weeks, and last Saturday even undertook a little expedition to Marlborough and back.

The route from Swindon to Marlborough is a real pleasure, especially as more than 95 per cent of it is on traffic-free cycle paths, so you don’t have to dice with death on the main road.

Not that you have to leave town to find somewhere safe and pleasant to ride. Indeed, credit where it’s due to Swindon.

I doubt there are many urbanised places in the whole world, apart from maybe in Holland and Scandinavia, that are blessed with a more extensive or better maintained network of cycle paths.

West Swindon and North Swindon, particularly, have so many that you can actually lose yourself on them.

It’s also easy to get from one side of town to the other, because there are some long-range routes criss-crossing the place.

Apart from the fact that you have to keep slowing down and/or stopping to cross roads, which is a pain, generally speaking it’s a lot of fun.

More importantly: for somebody like me, who is now well over 50 and in need of getting fit (not to mention slim), cycling is a Godsend.

My legs don’t seem up to long-distance running any more; I can’t swim; I’m useless at racquet sports; and you need to do an awful lot of slow and boring miles to get fit from walking. So cycling is really a salvation.

And it’s encouraging how quickly you return to fitness if you get on your bike.

Two months ago I would have had to get off and walk up some of Swindon’s hills, but now I’m more likely to get up them in second gear.

Best of all: there aren’t many better things, these days, than overtaking another cyclist and then realizing, as you pass them, that they are much younger than you.

And so to the joke – which is about two roads drinking in a bar.

“I’m the toughest road in Britain,” says the A1(M). “I carry thousands of lorries at a time, and I go up north, where the weather’s bad, but it never stops me.”

“Well I’m tougher than you,” says the M4. “I’m six lanes wide, I can reach right across the Severn estuary, and I keep going for miles. Even my shoulder is hard.”

Just then the door opens and in comes a much smaller road, causing both the A1(M) and the M4 to cower.

“What’s up with you two?” asks the barman. “I thought you both said you were tough.”

“We are,” says the M4, “but we don’t mess with the likes of him. He’s a cycle path.”