Someone cut my wings off a couple of weeks ago. They stole my bike.
It’s not the first time it’s happened. Seven years ago, someone stole my university bike. I don’t know why; its resale value was nil. I’d inherited it from my father, who may have inherited it from his – an ancient, ten-speed racer with friction gear-shifters, a leather saddle and not a gram of aluminium on it. A fine bike with loads of personality, but you’d have to pay someone to take it away. It was called Ziggy.
Ziggy’s replacement was an experiment, fitted with the then-new, 7-speed hub gears. It was very similar to the Villager 7. I grew to love that bike, although it never quite had enough character to earn a name. It was perfectly suited to the benign neglect I lavish on my possessions and loved ones. The hub gear kept the chain straight and the guard protected it from rain and road crud thrown up by the front wheel. I put about 10,000 miles on that bike, took it touring in France, watched the baggage-handlers at Heathrow bounce it off the tarmac from the comfort of my window seat. In all that time I changed bits as they wore out, kept it lubed, but never, ever cleaned it. Went like a dream, better than when it first came out the shop.
Couple of weeks ago, I locked it to the railings in its usual place in Golden Square with its indomitable shackle lock. Went to the pub, drank beer and played Vampire the Masquerade for a few hours, came back and… no bike. No lock either.
My hate-filled Pit Post made it as far as Preview. I read my words and was chilled. I had expressed thoughts so ugly that I didn’t want to be associated with them. So I’m letting them go. Hope you enjoy my bike, you little shit.
I did my homework. I’m addicted to hub gears now – I can’t get on with derailleurs at all for town cycling. So I hit the Internet and found what hub-geared bikes were available in Britain. Very few, many were expensive, and most weren’t being sold in Aberdeen anyway. But there were some. Couple of shops were selling something called the Ridgeback Nemesis, and one was selling Cannondale’s 50-50. Then it hit me. How was I going to get to these bike shops? Parking in Aberdeen is abysmal, and there’s virtually no street parking at all in the centre.
I ended up pounding pavement all weekend. I didn’t enjoy it. Having a bike in town is fantastic. Everywhere is a few minutes away. You can travel door to door. You can scoot to cafes and bars out of your way on a whim. You can always find an ATM. You’re not even supporting your full weight most of the time! It felt like I’d had my wings cut off.
Halfords is not where I would usually shop for bikes, but it had a hub-geared model that was over 25% cheaper than its nearest rival. This thing. I test-rode it; it seemed solid enough, and quite light. But it’s very black. Matt black frame, black rims, even black spokes. Blacker than it looks in the link, where it’s softened by greenery and bright sunshine. It reminds me of a helicopter gunship – sinister.
It needed a few mods before it suited me. Full length mudguards, to avoid transferring puddles to the back of my own head. A new shackle-lock without the pickable cylinder key. A carrying rack, so I can shop and camp and picnic and fetch pizza. Ditch the quick-release on the front wheel, a waste of time and an invitation to thieving gits. New mounts for my Cateye lamps.
The mudguards are shiny black, as is the lock. They make it look insectile, like a beetle. The rack is silver which I thought might clash, but it matches the hub and brakes. It actually turns heads, and there aren’t a lot of bicycles that do that.
It’s not as well spec’d as an Orbit Orion, but this evil-looking bike has personality. It merits a name. I’m thinking Vlad.
Sorry, couldn’t resist.