Life Cycle

My immaculately coiffed barber was disturbed to read in the real estate hoarding that poses as a newspaper, The [federal electorate deleted] Courier, reports that cyclists should be licensed.

But first a declaration of personal interest – your correspondent confesses freely to getting about our city* on two wheels. And more freely this week with a new lease on life: a Shiny New Bike [maroon] replaces the bent old steed [green].

Excuse me for revelling like an eight-year-old orphan over Santa’s Surprise, but there is no fool like an old fool. Confirmation of this humbling adage arriving when I was fitted for my SNB. Since I was kid perched on a big SNB stretching for the pedals with my sandalled tippytoes I have been riding too high. Apparently, I learn, better late than never, you should never straighten your legs in the seated position. I mumbled that I like my seat higher and the elderly cycling sage chuckled that I would not be walking at sixty.

“That explains the pain and restricted movement,” I thought and allowed him to put the seat right where he wanted it. The quads and hammies are meant to do the work! The leg must stay a little bent!?! So much for my autodidactic physiology. I wish I done Medicine instead of Arts.

Yeah, license cyclists. Make the dumb bastards prove themselves competent before they go out risking life and limb to keep themselves fit and make the planet a greener place. And stop them self-harming.

This week don’t assume the position – contemplate it when you get back on your bike and permit yourself to be comfortably at ease, Private.

*the word CITY in this column or any work by this author carries NO imputation of VILLAGES – it is the author’s considered opinion that the phrase ‘city of villages’ is a fatuous nonsense purporting nothing but spindizzy blah feelgood for self-funded burnt out hippy boomers who stuff ballot boxes for Lord Mayor More-Greasy-Grey-Granite.

by Peter Whitehead