Farewell, my old friend
It’s odd to be sentimental about a piece of metal on wheels, but I felt sad as I rode my old bike for what will probably be the last time
IT’S painted an unfashionable red and made by a company that no longer exists. It’s heavy and ungainly and the gears are cantankerous but for the past decade, I’ve loved my bike. I’ve loved the way it feels when the wind is behind me and I’m leaning forward on the handlebars, just nudging the pedals as we cruise down Royal Parade. And I love the near silence as the thin wheels whoosh through empty streets in Carlton on the way home late at night.
I was given the bike, brand new, by a friend for my 40th birthday. An incredibly generous gesture by him, even if he does own a bike rental business and was able to obtain it at below the retail price. I remember the shock when he turned up at my office and phoned me from the foyer, asking me to come down and meet him for a coffee. I walked out of the lift, and there was the bike, shiny and red, Murray grinning from ear to ear beside it.
I had another bike then, a beaten up white second-hand hybrid with a chain that was always coming loose and which I was glad to get off my hands. One Sunday soon after Murray’s surprise gift, I rode it to a bike shop in High Street, Northcote, which serviced and donated bikes to asylum seekers. I was happy it would be useful to someone else, but never gave it another thought. I can’t even remember much of what it looked like.
I was wary of my new red bike when I first took ownership of it. It was a proper road bike, with 21 gears, ultra-thin wheels and dropped handlebars with extenders to allow you to get even lower and more aerodynamic. I was not then, and never have been, a serious cyclist, the type who gets up at dawn on a Sunday and pulls on skin tight lycra for a 50 km pack ride along the bay or in the hills. I am strictly a commuter cyclist, using my bike to get from point A to point B, with A usually being home and B work.
This new red bike was a step above anything I had ridden before, and I wobbled awkwardly in the saddle as it took me some time to adjust to the thin wheels and the extra gears. But slowly I became used to it. I would trundle around with the youngest child ensconced in the seat behind me or the oldest learning to ride on a kind of tandem device which clipped to the upright part of my frame. Now they both ride to school most days.
As I became more familiar with my new bike, my riding habits became more regular also, from two days a week to three, four, even five. I adjusted my wardrobe for clothes that were comfortable to ride in, but neat enough for work. Every July, I would stay up late to watch the big stages of the Tour De France, and then the next morning I would imagine myself in the peloton as I cruised confidently down Royal Parade to work. When my rhythm was right, the riding felt effortless.
For 10 years, the bike has served me well, despite the numerous punctures, the chain slippages, the many lost or broken lights, the couple of computers which have packed it in. It has fallen and been scratched, and there are bits and pieces of rust. The residue of mud and dust thrown up by the rear tyre has formed a thick black patina along the base of the frame. But I had no plans to replace it and felt it would be able to do the job for another decade.
But almost two weeks ago, I turned 50 and on Sunday Murray turned up on my doorstep with a brand new, grey Giant hybrid. He’d done it again — a new bike for a new decade in my life.
For a few days, I agonised about what to do: this was a shiny new toy, but I was still very happy with Old Faithful. Perhaps I could keep both, but our shed isn’t big enough. I decided to take the old bike into the office and store it in the basement until I could work out what to do. Maybe I could use it down at the family beach house in Westernport Bay.
But then the decision was made for me. A workmate’s bike was stolen from the rack out the front of our building — the lowlife who took it used a hacksaw to cut through the chain — and I have offered it to him as a replacement.
It’s odd to be sentimental about what is essentially a piece of metal on wheels, but I felt sad as I rode my old bike into work this morning for what will probably be the last time. We’ve shared some good times, that bike and me. It’s never let me down — well, not often anyway — and I will always cherish the memory of it. I’m glad it’s going to a good home with a new owner who I hope will look after it and get as much enjoyment out of it as I did.
