There are two reasons why you should go to see The Flying Scotsman, a film that went on general release last month. First, the screenplay was written by my friend Simon, who could probably do with the cash. More important, though, it is a film about cycling.
When did that last happen? Nowhere has the car more brutishly exercised its dominance over the bicycle than in the world of film. How many biggish films can you think of in which cycling plays even a good supporting role?
Bicycles are either a niche interest or a prop to suggest romance or eccentricity. M'lud, may I present in evidence Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Or for eccentricity, Michael Palin as the cycling chiropodist in A Private Function.
Now along comes The Flying Scotsman to put that all right. With a bit of luck, it will do for cycling what Chariots of Fire did for the 400-yard dash. It is the story of Graeme Obree, an amateur rider whose bike shop in Irvine, Ayrshire, went bust in the early 1990s. Casting around for something else to do, Obree decided to attempt one of the great challenges of cycling - the Hour. It's a simple idea, as all the best ones are. You pedal for 60 minutes as if your life depended on it, and you see how far you get.
Obree not only came from virtually nowhere in 1993 to break a nine-year record with a distance of 32.06 miles, but he did it in the most unconventional way. He invented his own cycling position, a tuck that brought him lower and much more forward over the handlebars. He trained on the Paddington Bear diet - a regime of marmalade sandwiches. Best of all, he built much of his own bike. Having noticed one day that a washing machine spins at 1200rpm, he dismantled it and used the bearings. Apparently Obree now regrets telling a journalist about that washing machine. He fears it makes him sound eccentric and overshadows his sporting achievements (he was later world pursuit champion).
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But great sports feats are not always as exciting as advertised. To the outside gaze, the world of professional cycling looks like a drug-fuelled machine. The idea that you can beat the machine with marmalade sandwiches, a spin dryer and a will to win gives hope to the rest of us.
Our quest for the country's longest cycle-commute continues. Two weeks ago I mentioned police sergeant Mike Nugent, who pedals 36 miles between Watford and south London. That journey is dwarfed by Martin Porter QC, who cycles 60 miles a day between Sunningdale, Berkshire, and his London chambers. Businessman Mark Hepworth rides 76 miles between his Huddersfield home and his office in Wetherby, but only twice a week.
Can anybody beat them?
Send your views on cycling to ingear@sunday-times.co.uk