It was somewhere in class 6 or 7 that I was given permission to cycle to school. My soaring excitement crash landed almost immediately when I saw the contraption I was going to ride.
From behind some ladders, boxes and a thousand random things in the garage, my father excavated a Raleigh cycle. It was a roadster, more colloquially, 'doodhwaalah's cycle'.
"It's good as new.", he declared reassurance even before I reacted. I weakly protested that I was expecting a Hero Ranger or something in that order. I was quickly made aware of the pride of the Raleigh brand with the parts all coming from premium houses across the world and an inevitable comparison to the 'cycles these days'.
Still, sensing my disappointment, he made an offer. He would give the bicycle a new coat of polish and overhauling. "You'll fall in love with it, you'll see..." he portended.
The cycle did gleam a bit after the polish but it was no more appealing to me than it had been in its corner under a cloak of dust.
I lamented once again in protest. And this time, I earned myself a moral homily on his own travails as a youngster, how that cycle was a prized possession from hard earned money, served my uncle faithfully during his college years and the works...
I reluctantly surrendered. Or so I made it seem. There was still sometime for school to reopen and I spent all that time building up my case against the Raleigh. I whimpered, whined, bawled and made every petty complaint about the poor old roadster. It sat in its corner, stoic, dignified, swallowing all the bratty squall with poise.
My father shook his head and sighed deeply but relented a little and gave me another choice - he would slightly modify my BSA Champ by giving it a regular saddle in place of the longish double seat and do away with that unsightly tubular backrest, so that it seemed less of a kids bike.
He got it a dapper looking saddle and the scarlet red Champ instantly oozed the charm of a beach cruiser.
I wanted it to look more raw and punk but the saddle was only as far as he'd take the deal.
The rage among bikes those days was the Hero Ranger, a newly introduced MTB that stormed the streets. I think my cousin had one. Why, almost everyone had a red or a yellow one and I desperately longed to own one myself. Next in popularity was the leaner BSA Streetcat with leaping yellow boom boom shaka laka pumas tattooed all over it. And then was a beefier Hercules MTB. Then there was a muscular Atlas MTB as well. The more genteel city bikes were led by the flagship BSA SLR.
Another league of road bikes was made up by the sleek Hero Hawk, Atlas Concorde and BSA Mach something.
Most bikes never retained their factory appearance in the hands of school goers. The chrome fenders were tossed away, handle bars were altered or covered with black duct tape, factory stickers were peeled off, kick stands were hoicked out. Essentially scuttled to the bone. Raw and Mean.
I pedaled away to school on my mutant BSA Champ, partly relieved to be spared the roadster, partly still anxious of being potent troll fodder. Well, trolls feed on anything.
The Champ had a smaller wheel diameter and I had to pedal twice as fast to keep pace with my Hero Ranger friends. Once a school friend offered to switch his bike with mine on a ride home. I was elated. Only for a bit. His Hero Hawk was not only a little too tall for me, he'd kept the brake lines very loose, almost as if they didn't exist. I pedaled enthusiastically and my face went pale when I crunched the brake lever towards the handle grip and the brakes didn't hold. I somehow managed to bring the bike to a halt and he gave me a wicked grin. I was never happier to be back on my Champ.
Then we moved to high school. I'd ridden the mutant Champ for several months now. But high school ego would no longer allow my pride to ride a little boy's bicycle. I wanted a legitimate bike. And then I got good marks in....no wait, I actually went on a hunger strike at home. I knew what I'd ask for.
And so one fine morning, I rode in on a brand new BSA Streetcat GCX, much to the awe of my classmates. The GCX was an improved version of the street cat with accessories thrown in. It came in dual tone body paint. Mine was black at the front fork. The rest of the frame was all white. The stickers were fluoroscent green, yellow and pink. It had a cool black fenders and a carrier with a puma reflector.
I took great care of the GCX. Shined it quite often. Made sure it retained its original appearance. I would admire it endlessly. Felt devastated when the first nicks and scratches appeared. Used markers and paint to cover them up. After all, I needed only black and white. Was even agonized at the first flat tyre for the fear that the puncturewallah may mishandle the bike.
There was another guy (I think his name was Gautam, he shifted to another school soon after) who also had a GCX. Now this person had subjected his bike to various alterations and kicked dirt often. I felt pity for his poor bike and simultaneous pride for my own. It somehow spurred me further to maintain my bike even better.
My romance with the GCX continued till the start of PU College. I was told to use a Luna to save travel time. Oh come on Bangalore, cut the chuckle.
I thought I would keep the GCX forever, even though I rarely used it anymore. The tyres went flat eventually and the bike spent its retirement in the same corner as the Raleigh. Oh, btw, the Raleigh had been given a sentimental farewell around the time the GCX arrived. The Champ also bid its adieu subsequently.
And when I moved to Bangalore, I realized the GCX must move on as well. It went for a nominal sum and hopefully had a good second innings somewhere.
A few years later, biking interested me once again. I bought myself a Firefox Roadrunner and some gear to go along with it.
"It's fast!", I told a friend. "Even with you on it?", she quipped. Valid point, given my current physical disposition.
The Firefox is on a sabbatical for sometime now. The last time I took it out, I lost an expensive cable lock on the road.
Writing this blog makes me want to put the Firefox on an impromptu ice bucket challenge, dust it a bit and hop on it, into the breeze once again!
