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.
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