If was paid to do so, I would cycle it to the beach, before going into a stripey changing cubicle on wheels, and emerging with brylcreemed hair and curly 'tache in a stripey one piece swimsuit, before patting a maid on the bottom and saying "lawks!". Then I'd dip my foot into the water and pull it out with a crab attached to my big toe, and say "cripes!".
Otherwise, not at all.
Toffs in Kensington will cycle around on a summer's evening wearing a short-sleeved rugby shirt, stopping off at a bar to quaff Pimms and go "hwa hwa, Jemima". Then they'll leave it in their hallway when they go off to Tanzania to help set up mobile phone masts in the middle of nowhere, and Mummy will give it away to cousin Freddie.
Makes me think of Eugene 'Cri-Cri' Christophe and his busted fork antics in 1913 and 1919. I have a b&w photo somewhere of him on a bike very like that, looking exhausted near top of the Tourmalet or some vertical goat track.