The fixed gear diaries

Great. Just as I am about to leave the heavens open and a torrent of rain falls from the gloomy grey skies. I am forced to sit and wait, looking out from behind the wooden blinds. Waiting, thinking, as the heavy rain gushes down.

Eventually, after some belated moments it abates. Fixie over my shoulder and down the stairs I go. Big creaking door opened and I gaze out onto the concrete street as the rain is now spitting sporadically. Corduroy hood up and zipped all the way to the top. A snug feeling it is. Music for this ride comes courtesy of Soweto Kinch. Track eight is my current favourite and so Snakehips it is. I'm sure this amazing song is featured in Midnight in Paris. I'll have to watch it again to check. It's been nagging at me. 

Traffic buzzes around me as I peddle away. The rain is back in full flow again. I'm getting saturated. I glance down at the changing colour of my trousers and blazers. The white swoosh flickers as the rain dances on the ground around my tyres.

En route to the city. On approach to the great hill, Hardman street. I marvel at the majestic Liver Birds that cast a shady mirage like spectacle on the horizon. The rain and atmosphere showcase them in a beautifully misty light. Amazing.

Descending down Hardman is a cool and breezy experience. Cars, buses. Traffic everywhere. Attention to detail is a must. In between the gaps and straight towards the variable lights. The rain continues to pursue me as I ride.

No space to park my bike so I choose a different spot. Locked up and time to go about the city. 

Faces, faces, umbrellas, umbrellas. Here, there. Everywhere. Crowds of folk in the city on agendas. Just like me, I guess. 

Time rolls along and then I feel in my pocket for one of my lock keys. It's not there. I check the second pocket. Not there. Eastpak pockets. The same. Nothing. A bolt of of worry surges through me. A comprehensive search is conducted. Nothing. Oh no. I don't need this. OK, think. Did it fall out of my pocket when I was trying on those trousers. I swiftly head back to the store. The changing room lets me down. Nothing.

David answers the phone. After all it's his lock, surely he has a spare key. He doesn't. I hear little Brayden in the background talking about Mickey Mouse. I hang up.

Think, think good. I can't leave my bike over night in the city centre that is darkening as my worry heightens. Not with the crazy revellers who will be coming out to behave like moronic wild animals. Perish that thought.

Super dad. He picks up his phone. Happens that he's in the city, too. He's not far from me. We meet, he shouts, I shrug. Typical. He knows how my brain works, or doesn't at times. I'm in no mood. But it's true. We head back to his house. His brother is a man of many tools. And we head into the shed.  

Tooled up. Two dangerous looking hack saws in tow and we drive back to the city. The blanket of night is firmly above. Artificial lights shimmer and shine.

How on earth is this going to look. Me sawing away at a bike under the night sky with my dad at my side imploring me with encouragement and caution. "Go on! Go on! Be careful! Watch your fingers!"

Two men smoking casually stood outside a bar look on bemused. Then somebody knocks at the window. I try to ignore it.  I'm busy. Then a man comes out and says: "What are you doing?" My dad explains as I saw away with purpose  as little sparks fly. I hadn't been optimistic about getting anywhere with this saw - but the lock David allowed me to borrow wasn't the best and this sharp toothed instrument seems to be doing the trick. 

Finally! It's off. The shackle has been released. I make a point of showing the onlookers my key for the other lock. And they are satisfied. Like I care. I know I'm not a thief. It's my bike. My fixie.

Time to go home.

Demola, TCC