Bike Reflections: Kona 2009 Honky Tonk

In the 09/10 summer, I was overseas in Europe. I spent about 12 weeks there, riding around, visiting galleries, finding myself in awkward situations with Spanish men. I decided that I'd get myself a bike when I returned to Australia.

At that time my steed was a lovely red racer called Roberto that I'd literally picked up off the side of the road. I decided this time to set my sites a bit higher, and began combing the interwebs for a new (old) bike. My interest in getting a second-hand bike was two-fold: buying things second-hand reduces pressure on the Earth's resources, and it is better value. This second point is due to the fact that, I reckon, for any product, its resale value decays exponentially while its utility value decays arithmetically. Thus, a bike about 6 months old will sell for, say 60% of its initial price, but represent 80% of that price in usefulness.

I eventually picked up a second-hand Kona 2009 Honky Tonk. I knew very little about bikes at this point. I new I was getting a better bike than I had. The shifters, although downtube (!) worked much more smoothly - Tiagra magic, I would later find - and the ride felt a lot more powerful. This bike was also significantly bigger than Roberto, and much more suited to my size - I almost can't imagine now how I ever rode Roberto comfortably.

Anyway, I got this bike, and named him Felix.

We spent over 12 months together - in the rain, in the sun. To and from uni, well, to and from everywhere that I rode. Felix served me well. In return I lovingly lubricated his chain, cleaned his chain, adjusted his brakes, cleaned his rear derailleur. In short, I did all the things a loving, semi-competent bike owner would do.

Ok, I have just re-named this post. In hindsight, this can't be a review, I simply wouldn't really have a clue. But it can be a reflection. I can think about what I enjoyed, my fond memories, the times I spent with Felix. I can eulogise, because Felix is now dead.

He died while we were having fun together. I had hit my stride, the cadence was perfect, there was a green light in the distance and I new I was going to make it through. In my head I was singing, and things were going fine.

Then a car drove right in front of me. Felix crumpled. I took him home that evening in a car. His frame was bent in two places. His saddle was oddly warped. Death had been hard on him.

I don't remember my first ride with Felix, but I do remember other wonderful times. Vaguely, that is. Mainly it just consists of going past parked cars, and of generally feeling good while on the bike. There was this one time I rode somewhere in pounding rain and it was sort of awesome, but that might have been a different bike.

I do remember a moment or two that drove wedges between Felix and me. There was that time the bike mysteriously  pivoted over the front wheel, throwing me unceremoniously in to the road. I bled after that. Felix had been very bad and I told him so. There was his odd reluctance to remain in first gear.

But, as wise people have said, we love bikes not despite their faults, but because of them. While Felix may not have been the most advanced bike, he was consistent, he was a lovely blue colour, and he got me where I needed to get in a good amount of style, except in those cases where he got punctures and I couldn't repair them.

It has now been almost 23 days since Felix's untimely demise. I will confess, I straightaway, un-sentimentally, began looking for a replacement. But I still have his blue carcass sitting on a ping-pong table in my shed. Soon, once some more time has passed, once my life is back in the lane, I'll strip him down, keep his chain, and shed a tear for a life that was all too brief.

Adelaide's Melbourne Street is a Great Place to try to get Terribly Injured While Cycling

I ride along Melbourne Street approximately twice a day on my way to and from university. I do this because it is the fastest way, generally, and I get an emotional reward from going past cars stuck in traffic. It is not a very pleasant place to cycle. If you do not have the Quixotic goal of getting to uni in fewer than 10 minutes, I encourage you to take an alternate route, perhaps Mackinnon Parade. This is because Melbourne Street is a deathtrap.

I've taken the liberty of creating a map detailing the deathtrap that is Melbourne Street. I'm going to run through the deathtraps from North to South, but before we get in to specifics, it's worth zooming down to the main intersections at each end. You may recoil in shock and horror, or simply in one of shock or horror. These are scary-looking intersections. They are not the comfortable four-way intersections you have as a cyclist come to, if not know and love, at least know and accept. They are bizarre, unique contortions of traffic engineering.

So from that nerve-wracking beginning, let us exam deathtrap number one: the middle merge. Although not strictly part of Melbourne Street, it's close enough. In order to fully convey the magnitude of the cyclist's dilemma, I will write in a stream-of-consciousness style, as pioneered by that famous cyclist and little-known novelist, James Joyce.

Mmm, sort of sucks that Mann Road doesn't have a bike lane. Not to worry, I have a decent margin around me. Things are OK. Ah, great, here's a lane. Well, I am in it now, pretty sweet. Just cruising on through this green light, what the fuck why is there no bike lane oh holy shit I am in the middle of four lanes of motor vehicle traffic. I'm not in the second lane or the third lane I'm just sort of hobbling in between them. I need to get across to that bike lane over there but AA! there are big metal things zooming past with many thousands of kilogram-metres-per-second to each of them.

You may think you misunderstood - you likely did. However, if your impression was that there is a bike lane on the Eastern side of the intersection, which then disappears and leaves the cyclist in the middle of four lanes of cars, that was correct. That is in fact the case. That is deathtrap number one.

Deathtrap number two: the right-hand turn. I think it's fair to say that after a car turned right directly in front of me, bringing about the rapid and rather forceful deceleration of my second real bike (now my first serious un-bike) I am somewhat concerned about the unexpected right-hand turn. This is the one when you are heading merrily toward the city, and a car suddenly swipes directly ahead of you. That is, if you are lucky. (The unfortunate, life-ruining alternative is that you are struck by the car.) This is scarily possible due to the traffic that plagues the ol' Melby St in the morning, and the sort-of-courteous/life-threating habit of cars going in the same direction as you of arbitrarily stopping to let such maneouvres happen.

NB: Bikes are not Flash Gordon and cannot go through cars.

This now brings us to my favourite deathtrap, the failed indicator. This can occur heading in either direction through the main intersection, although I encounter it more on my way away from the city. In this case, there are two lanes of traffic going the same direction as you entering the intersection. However, because Melbourne Street is single lane, most cars tend to remain in the right-hand lane. This works well - in the absence of a bike lane, the cyclist can scooch on through in the left lane, returning to the bike lane on the other side.

There is a problem, though, when sometimes a car seeks to turn right, leaving cars behind it with a quandary. Defensibly, many cars decide to pop around the car, making use of the left-hand lane. Indefensibly, many, many cars opt to do this sans indication, threatening the humble and selfless bike rider. This is a fairly predictable, and thus not so dangerous, deathtrap, as the presence of a car waiting to turn right virtually guarantees a flow of cars behaving such. However, it is the most onerous in my opinion, as it is a flagrant example of utter callousness and neglect on the part of a large proportion of those involved.

'The Door Prize' is deathtrap number four, and obviously a classic for any setting. You are riding along, minding your business, when flash, bam, alakazam, a car door swings open in your immediate path, resulting in a few extra nostrils in the medium-term. Or, in many cases, death. What makes it particularly an issue on Melbourne Street is the relative frequency of cars coming and going and the associated opening of doors. Further, the single-lane nature of the street leaves our vulnerable road user with very few evasion options.

The final deathtrap occurs before you even enter Melbourne Street as you try to turn right in to it from Frome Road. Simply put, there is not adequate space for vehicles to turn right simultaneously from opposite sides of the intersection. That is, if you are trying to turn right in as a car on the other side is trying to turn right in to Sir Edwin Smith Avenue, bummer.

Melbourne Street is a dangerous and scary place to be if you are not enclosed in a tonne or so of protective metal. But luckily, there are some simple and constructive measures to make it much safer - obviously the banning of motor vehicles. While this may seem extreme and could have some impact on local traders, it would make cyclists happier. And a world in which cyclists are happy is a happy world indeed. (For cyclists)