My First "Real" Bike

Like most people my age, my first bikes and gear were hand me downs, from various people. A frame that was given a quick spray with hardware store spray cans and a mish mash of old wool jerseys, knicks with rock hard chamois which inevitably allowed your balls to slip down the side and get crushed between the seat and the side of your leg, and an ancient pair of black perforated leather shoes.

Getting my first “real” bike was one of those peak life events that remain etched into your consciousness. Now understand that your first real bike was still going to be a second hand bike, but it was going to be “your” bike and you were going to have to buy it.

I grew up in the town of Bendigo in central victoria and Bendigo was famous for “The Madison”, a cycling event that seemed somewhat out of place for the small country town that it was held in, often attracting people like Danny Clark, Tony Doyle, and Stan Tourne, to come and ride – world champions all and genuine superstars of track cycling. There would be a whole load of Belgian and Dutch cyclists come over to race the Madison and other track races around the place. It was from this rich mine, that my bike appeared. The custom was that the riders would sell all their gear before they returned to Europe for some extra cash, and that equipment starved Bendigonian’s would snap it up.

My bike had originally been the road training bike of a Dutch bloke who no one could remember. It had been purchased by someone in the club and was coming up for sale. It was a white Plum Vaniquer, with yellow stickers. It had a yellow “turbo”seat and campagnolo groupset bar the white modolo speedy brakeset. It had mavic singles (tubulars or sew ups) and was a pretty classy looking machine, wearing the scrapes and scars of a number of years of training and racing.

My favorite part was the aero campag seatpost which looked, to my eyes at least, to be the classiest thing ever to have been invented. The bike was a perfect fit for me and I wanted it bad.

I had some money saved up and seeing my pain, my parents chipped in a few bucks, and it was mine. A beat up old bike that was just about worn out, but boy did I love that bike. I only raced on it and it was cleaned and oiled to within an inch of its life after every outing. And then of course it sat propped in my bedroom, waiting for the next chance to be unleashed.