Always Crashing on the Same Bike
It's the 17th anniversary of my dad's death. He was a nice man. Here he is trying to teach me how to ride a bike. I'm not sure he could ride a bike himself, mind. Blue Chopper I was given a second-hand Raleigh Chopper for my birthday. Choppers had been a big deal in the seventies, but had lately been superseded by the Grifter and, ultimately, the BMX had become a phenomenon, so a Chopper, and this one had small patches of rust, was distinctly old hat. No bragging rights were attached, like a card in the spokes or handlebar tassels. I didn’t care. I couldn’t believe this thing existed and was mine. I could touch it. I could sit on it. I could be Erik Estrada. It was shiny and blue. It was big. It had three gears which you changed with a T-shaped handle, in a vigorous, macho fashion. The wheel at the back was bigger than the one at the front, like a farthing penny. I was mesmerised. I couldn’t ride it though. My dad took me to Victoria Recreation Gro...
