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Tooth picks on wheels

 

Someone took my dog, stole the microchip the vet had inserted, and returned my pet to me three days later.  So to stop this occurring again I’ve made a chip that can be attached to the other chip so I know if it’s been stolen!  And while I was designing it I thought – cycling?  What the h-e-l-l’s that all about?

Can you remember your first bike?  You know, the innocent days, when a bike was just a bike and not a fashion accessory.  Sure you had racing bikes back in the day, but the machines used were just a couple of wheels, a frame that was made of the finest British oak and a saddle that was the size of an armchair.

My first mode of transport was a three wheeler with, I’ll have you know, a metal pannier box between the back wheels, oh yes madam – very posh!  I can still recall the sense of freedom it gave me.  I felt as if I could go anywhere in the world on it, well, to the sweetshop and the park anyway.  Then, things changed.  When I was six, women came into my life, and the way to tell the difference between a girl and boy in those days was if their bike had a cross-bar or not! 

But I digress… once designers discovered that they could make a bike go faster than 3 mph, by adding gears, races and sponsorship took over.  The milk race was born and this led to the Tour de France.  Quite how people find this sport, (Sport?  Priceless!!!), interesting is beyond me.  I mean, what do you get for your money? 

You stand in the same spot for days and watch a bunch of tooth picks ride around in circles!  SHER-WHOOSH!  “What was that?”  “The first wave of cyclist mate”  “When does the next lot arrive?”  “Ooh, bout six hours!”  Bunch of sickos if you ask me.  Their not there for the race, they’re there for the crashes!  

Personally, I’d gain more satisfaction head-butting a hedgehog all afternoon. And what’s the top prize for slogging your guts out on the French circuit for days at a time – a yellow T shirt – well slap my thighs and call me Susan,  whoop-de-bleedin’-do!    

So, you want to buy a racing bike, and the equivalent of a male ballet          dancer’s outfit to impress the neighbours – how much do you think that’s going to set you back?  Well, the ‘silly suit’ alone has to be around £300 doesn’t it?  Especially if the Lycra has been hand knitted by Chinese doves in Watford!  And don’t get me started on the rest of the rubbish you think you might need.

 Oh yes, the boys and girls in marketing have busted a gut to relieve you of your wage packet, and you can you can pick up a ‘speed demon’ for a mere bagatelle, well if you call £6,709 mere!  With this price in mind, it doesn’t take an idiot to work out how much the rest of the gear is going to cost.    

 A bog standard helmet is £28, but a racing version might cost £350.  The list is endless and just the basic equipment will set you back £2,000, and the pricing gets sillier and sillier depending on which country you’re in. 

In America, one bright spark set about building the world’s most expensive two-wheeler, and you’ll be glad to hear he succeeded.  It’s a snip at half a million bucks and it’s so light you can lift it up of the floor with your wedding tackle!         

I mean, what was the fucking thing made of for God’s sake – a range of last years butterfly’s knickers!  I guess the first requirement is to find a rider that weighs less than a fetus.  They would have to be that light to sit on a saddle no bigger than a matchbox for eight hour at a time.  And all for what?  A brightly coloured piece of material and piles for the rest of your natural life. 

Next week tandems, and how they can be best used in a suicide bombing…

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