"I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike"

Today at work, Delusions Of Grandeur, Crisp Fiend & myself got to talking about accidents we had as kids & the crazy things we'd do back then. We spoke of many different things but one subject was bikes.

So I'm gonna witter on about bikes.

Before I do though, using the term "witter" as just reminded me of something. Reckless & Dream Girl bumped into Rick Witter (Former lead singer with Shed Seven) in Northampton last Wednesday. Reckless phoned me to gleefully tell me about this & to suggest that Nice & I join them in going to see Rick Witter & The Dukes at the Soundhaus that night. I'd only just got back from New York & was jiggered. That coupled with Middlesborough's UEFA cup final being on the telly (Nice & I had watched almost every game of their campaign & didn't want to miss the final), I declined. As we watched Boro get a 4-0 drubbing Reckless & Dream Girl had a great time & Reckless got to sing with Rick. Some other guy got up onstage & sang the choruses to "Chasing rainbows". I've always wanted that to happen to me! Bastard

Anyway, my first proper bike was a Chopper.














It was exactly like that one except mine was silver with purple writing. It was ace!
I loved that bike, I also hated it.
Why? Well let me tell you...

Not too long after I got it (I reckon I was 9 or 10 at the time) I got a puncture on the back tyre. Not knowing anything about those sort of things, I enlisted the help of MarriedAProperBitch to fix said problem. During the operation he accidentally snapped the toggle chain (the bit of equipment that changed the gears). Now although a new toggle chain only cost about 5op, I inexplicably never replaced it. My Dad wouldn't pay for it because he thought MarriedAProperBitch should pay for it. I know!
Anyway the upshot of all this was that my Chopper was permanently stuck in third gear.
Which would have been fine if I never ever had to ride up a hill again. I was raised in Yorkshire though, not Norfolk.
I distinctly remember my cub pack (Yes, I was in the cubs!*) having a bike ride to Rothwell Park, which was about 5 miles away and the journey involved at least 2 great big chuffing hills. I was completley cream-crackered when I got there 10 minutes after everyone else.
I did alright on the way home though.
Despite this impediment, my Chopper served me for a good few years until one xmas (1983, I think) it was superceded by Ronnie. Ronnie the racer, to give him his full title. Sleek, stylishly coulered white fading into red & in possesion of twelve fully working gears, Ronnie was a grown up bike.

*My time in the cubs was responsible for the most embarrasing photo of me ever taken. Bribes may be considered in exchange for posting it.

There are many stories involving Ronnie. Three of these took place within one week-long stay with MarriedAProperBitch in the summer of 1985. I had brought Ronnie to Crapsville with me on the train. One day MarriedAProperBitch suggested that he introduce me to his friend; Funny Dance. This involved a fairly short ride through Crapsville's southbrook estate. I was following MarriedAProperBitch through what seemed to be an ever-increasing maze of twists & turns of pathways & alleys. Imagine the scene from the second Matrix movie with the motorbike, it was like that but without the agents! All of a sudden MarriedAProperBitch slammed his brakes on. Far too suddenly for me to react accordingly & I slammed into the back of him. Poor old Ronnie's front wheel was, & I shit you not, bent through 90 degrees! Funny Dance poked his head out of his window to see MarriedAProperBitch laughing uncontrolably & me shouting all kinds of abuse at him.

With Ronnie's front wheel replaced by one that was actually circular, I left Crapsville on Sunday to make the long journey home to Wakefield. This involved cycling 12 miles to Rugby, getting a train to Birmingham New St where I would change to a train all the way home. Now before I go on let me just remind you that I was only 15 years old. The first part of my trek went fine. I stood on the platform at Birmingham & awaited my train to Wakefield. When it pulled in I headed for the guard's van to stow Ronnie for the journey. That's when I met an utter bastard...
"You can't put that on the train, there's no room"
" "(nervous laugh assuming he was pulling my leg)
"I don't have to take bikes y'know & there's no room"
"It'll fit in there easily" I said motioning to the practically empty space behind him
"No, you're not getting on with that"
Now incredulous & not a little worried "but it's the last train to Wakefield!"
"Not my problem"
"HOW AM I GOING TO GET HOME??"
With that he went about making sure the doors were shut before waving his flag, the platform guy blew his whistle & the last train to Wakefield departed from Birmingham New St without neither Ronnie or I on it.
Disconsolately, I carried Ronnie up the stairs to the concourse where I explained my plight to a fairly unsympathetic member of staff. He told me the only way I could get home now was to go to Crewe & then wait 3 hours for the mail train that went to Leeds.
So that's what I had to do. I arrived in Leeds at 4 in the morning. I still had an 8 mile bike ride to do, out of one of Britain's biggest cities.
What a bastard, eh?

Sandwiched between these events was the day when this happened;
It was morning & MarriedAProperBitch & I where making the short trip to his girlfriend's house. She lived on the main street that runs through the aforementioned Southbrook estate (incidentally just next door but one to Nice's house that she shared with her ex). Now the houses on this road are considerably lower than the road itself & have quite steep front gardens. As we approached the house MarriedAProperBitch cycled down the path of stairs that led to the door. "Bastard" I thought "I was gonna do that". The only option I had now was to ride down the lawn. Halfway down I applied the brakes. The dew on the grass ensured that, although my wheels had stopped turning, my bike kept on hurtling forward. In what seemed like mega slow motion Ronnie's front wheel slammed straight into the wall. The wall that was directly underneath the bloody great front window. Now I'm sure we all understand inertia, don't we? Yes, Ronnie stopped dead but Flash didn't. I went crashing through the window head first, eventually coming to rest with my waist in line with the where the window was. MarriedAProperBitch's girlfriend & her younger brother who were watching the telly were now sat in open mouthed shock. I shook my head, looked up & meekly said "Morning!".
I've always been very pleased that I had the composure to say that, it wouldn't be half the memory it is without it.
Somehow I had avoided any sort of serious injury, though I did have to go to the health centre to have a few minor cuts treated & to have lot's of shards of glass removed from my mop of curly hair. MarriedAProperBitch's girlfriend's father was absolutely apoplectic, when he arrived & from that day forth I was definitley persona non grata in that household.
Smashing tale though, eh?

Ronnie's life came to an abrubt ending one Wednesday morning. I know it was Wednesday because it was my day off from my first ever job. My Mum came into my bedroom & interupted my lie in with the news that some blokes were riding my bike up & down the street. I dismissed it as typical Mum nonsense, which you'd fully understand if you knew my Mum.
Turns out, my Dad had asked the council to come round & clear a load of junk out of the garage. They actually cleared everything out though including all Dad's tools, his lawnmower & Ronnie. In the end most of the non-junk items were returned but not Ronnie. (sob)

Ronnie
1983 - 1986
I salute you.