It’s All About the Bike

I’ve sold three bicycles of late. Needs must, not to mention the impending problem of navigating the garden shed. I now have a fighting fund for a Herne Hill fixie, plus a garden shed that has been reclaimed by Titchmarsh, and not overrun by retro rides.

It was heartbreaking giving up on the Moulton fleet. A momentary glance over at my pointless Daytum online abacus though tells you that I just wasn’t riding the Deluxe, the Mini and yes, the BONKERS.

Bicycle ownership use to be all about space and money. A mathematical formula exists, stating that the ideal number of bikes equals the amount of available storage space in relation to the ready wonga.

Plus one.

ALWAYS over-budget when it comes to bicycle ownership, Comrades.

But the age of austerity appears to have bitten the bicycling world as well.

“Do you *really* need seven bikes?”

…asked Wifey, shortly after spunking out herself on a Bike to Work ride that is highly unlikely to ever make the journey into the office.

There was a time when I tried to rotate the ride each day. But you have different bicycles for different needs. My needs are dwindling, and so it was bye-bye to the Moultons, BONKERS et al.

I reasoned that a roadie, an MTB and the Brompton probably covers all bases. Plus there’s a rusting bucket of a bike that is shared between Wifey and I around the means streets of Sunny Stockwell.

And what does this minimalist approach to transport tell us about other areas of materialist ownership?

I spent the remainder of the weekend sorting out my entire life possessions into four piles: keep it, sell it, give it away, bin it.

I’m a little embarrassed to reveal which of the four categories is stacked up the highest.

I’m already enjoying the reduced options when it comes to choosing what to ride each morning. The road ahead pretty much dictates which set of wheels gets the spin. The Brompton for the urban, the MTB for the country bumpkin boy, and the roadie for Le Tour fantasies.

The Stockwell rust bucket is simply a means to an end, plus the choice of wheels that will hopefully get me to Herne Hill where hopefully a track bike will await.

I’m not sure what type of frame awaits; once again, needs must. I did do rather well out of the Moulton fire sale, spreading a little Moultoneer love along the way.

Three redundant beautiful old bicycles were wheeled away one-by-one over the course of one weekend. The SMILES from the succession of buyers grew visibly with each bicycle.

Save the best to last – the BONKERS was the final ride to leave the building.

What next?

It's All About the Bike

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It's All About the Bike

It's All About the Bike

It's All About the Bike

It's All About the Bike

It's All About the Bike

It's All About the Bike

It's All About the Bike

It's All About the Bike

It's All About the Bike

It's All About the Bike

It's All About the Bike

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