Chapter 1: ENOUGH OF THE PROLOGUE...

I have had, in my life, 7 bicycles, not counting toddler style disposable jobbies but definitely including the solid rubber wheeled one with the cranks actually attached to the front wheel’s axle on the grounds that it was the first bike on which I was able to move around, unassisted, on two wheels (once the training wheels had been removed).

I am aware that this is not very many. Indeed, as I read through some of the industry magazines that I am currently amassing in alarming numbers, it seems quite a few people these days have a collection exceeding that number all at the one time (with the full suspension and the hardtail and the dirt jumper and a road bike for fitness training and gosh I really need a klunker to muck around on and my old hybrid for shooting down for the paper and milk and so on and so on).

In all that time I have only ever moved onto a new bike through absolute necessity. I grew out of my first and second bikes, number three got nicked by the local yoof gang (and subsequently paraded in front of me disguised with an appallingly bad paint job – bastards), numbers four and five got ridden into the ground, number six – stolen again - and it’s number seven that I’m currently toiling around on after a long lay off.

And it’s really not that bad of a bike. It’s a bit heavy (but still lighter than my daughters screamingly pink Mongoose that seems to have been fashioned out of a solid block of steel) creaks a bit and the derailleur’s need adjustment more than I would like but it’s still better than the vast majority of those I spotted cruising the 10km speed limited streets of Toowoon Bay Holiday park over our Christmas holiday.

So it’s not a small thing for me to say...

I would like.  A new bike.

A shiny and quite expensive bike, probably with full suspension, certainly with disc brakes, that looks cool, can be ridden with some confidence on trails the young people would refer to as ‘Gnarly’ and that I would absolutely NO WAY leave unsecured in the foyer of my block of units to get flogged by some bike thieving bastard who thinks it’s the height of hilarity to crap on the our landing on his way out.

Inconvenient then, that selling this concept to the other ‘members of the board’ as a logical and fiscally responsible option presents certain....challenges. For starters, my wife’s history with bikes can be summed up as – Got on bike. Pedalled bike into stationary car. Replaced two front teeth lost in resulting impact with porcelain ones that made her feel like Bucky Beaver. Also a day 3 years ago creaking around the Western Plains Zoo on the atrocious wobble wheeled nightmares that otherwise fine establishment has the gall to rent out to its unsuspecting customers.

I think I could get the 7 year old on board were it not for the fact that bicycle shops are not known for the wide range of Barbie paraphernalia and/or cuddly stuffed toys necessary to ensure she will spend more than 2 minutes inside one without demanding loudly and insistently to leave. 

My arguments must be watertight. My logic impeccable. My bullshitting off the scale.

NEXT: Rationales are like arseholes....