A cyclist’s lament

I’m not going to get into a debate on climate change on here – I have some pretty strong and largely unfounded opinions, and it only takes a beer or two before I’m an expert worthy of chairing the Copenhagen Summit. Regardless of your own views, we can all agree that pollution is bad, and ‘clean fuel’ is good. Now, I’m no hippy (though I do have a slight obsession for Moby), but given the geographical concentration of Canberra, combined with (most importantly) its relative flatness, I decided, in my own personal statement for the environment, to buy a bike.

Okay, there’s a little more to it than that. I duck off from work to uni classes three times a week, and the parking there costs $8 (which, given Canberra’s relatively depreciated exchange rate to Sydney, is about fifty Sydney dollars and thus downright ridiculous). My mathematical and economical psyches finally aligned themselves and advised me that I need only ride a cheap, second-hand, $150 bike less than twenty times to make a profit (not including the saved petrol and slight utility benefits from ‘doing the right thing’). So, I bought a bike.

Of course, there were hidden costs. I then had to buy a helmet, a lock, a pump, and front and back lights. Then the back tyre went flat, and while fixing it, I decided to chuck on some road tyres instead of the mountain ones. Then the front tyre went flat, and it transpired that the tube was busted – so, too, was the spare I’d been given. On taking the bike in to get a new tube, I found out that the gears stuck badly and the breaks were terribly wired – in the end, I gave in and got a full service.

But having handled all the fixed costs, it should be smooth sailing from now, right? Sure I have to ride it just a little more to make that economic profit, but that’s no biggie, yeh?

So I rode it into work for the first time. Of course, I can’t ride in my suit, so into the backpack it went. Although it’s only a fifteen minute ride, the Canberra heat saw me arriving with my shirt plastered with sweat to my back. Fortunately the office does have showers, so after lugging my bike into our ‘bike room’ (which looks like a cross between a storage cupboard for metal parts and a medieval torture chamber), I headed to the showers and lockers, chewing up more time to my morning.

Naturally, my shirt was crinkled from the ride, but it hardly matters as two hours’ later, I’m getting changed again and riding to uni. I bravely combat both the heat and the angry lunchtime motorists, who don’t seem to realise that by cutting them off when the bike-lane intersects with their arterial exit, I’m somehow saving a tree. Then back to work in the afternoon, now even sweatier, and still in a crinkled suit.

Now, before you judge me, let me readily admit that I’m sure there’s an easier way to do things. I’m sure I can plan better, maybe take in a week’s worth of work clothes by car each Sunday, or just get fitter. But before you turn up your nose at my constant whingeing, here’s the kicker: my chunky d-lock I bought has decided to break, thus rendering itself useless, inoperable and unopenable, while still attached to my bike.

I’d say that was a sign, if ever there was one. Global warming, do your worst.