bikes

I�m very fortunate that my occupation allows me time to indulge in a daily bike ride. Usually, I hop on my road bike and complete a 28km circuit of back roads near my house in the Blue Mountains. It�s rather hilly, as you�d expect, but the grind is more than compensated by spectacular views and quiet roads.  However, lately I�ve noticed that my focus on the ride has shifted slightly from a sense of calm and joy at cycling in such beautiful surroundings to being keenly aware of the car approaching me from behind. I guess I�ve read, or written too many articles on the dangers of road cycling. I�ve even bought a Fly6 rear-facing video camera and flashing light-set to hopefully mitigate against the perceived dangers of distracted motorists. Don�t get me wrong. I still love my daily ride. But the presence of looming vehicles driven by texting motorists set me thinking. I live on Narrow Neck Road in the Blue Mountains, just a few hundred metres uphill from the majestic Narrow Neck plate...

As a child, I rode a bicycle regularly from the age of eight until I was a teenager. When not kicking a soccer ball, I�d cycle around the suburb after school and on Saturday morning I�d ride the eight kilometres to my football game. A bicycle gave me independence and a finely-tuned sense of adventure. Mum didn�t care where I went, as long as I was home for dinner. My brother and I would venture to a nearby suburb where there was an aerodrome. We'd alternate between cycling over the sand hills down by the creek and watching the planes taking off. I liked planes but I loved my bicycle. When I was a teenager, my parents moved house. I didn�t want to change high schools, so I embarked on a twelve kilometre round-trip each day on my bike. It seemed entirely natural to spend every morning and afternoon on a bike. I reasoned I only had six months until I could leave school anyway. And then I had to go and spoil it all by getting a job and buying a car. The bicycle rusted in the shed. The ...