Sixty Fiver

I posted this in Foo earlier and thought it would fit here too since it really has a C&V theme.

I was born in England in 1955 and without even seeing the land of my birth, travelled to Canada via ship to what has now been my home for the last 53 years and I expect that someday, I will die here. Canada is a very nice country except for the fact it gets so cold in the winter we are often stuck indoors.

It would be nice to go to England and travel the roadways although they are probably much different than they were when I was a young and I expect that the bicycles there are a lot flashier and prettier.

At one time I thought an old lady like me would not even rate a second glance but that has changed.

I was very beautiful in my youth and was the object of desire for many a young man and although I have always been a simple gal, was little too expensive for their tastes. One younger man finally did pay the price that was asked and took me home.

This strapping young man immediately proceeded to strip me of my skirts and as a proper English girl, I was shocked. He then took me outside, and rode me harder than I ever thought was possible and must admit, I really enjoyed it.

This became a regular occurrence as the young man would pick me up and take me out to the country and ride me for hours on end without stopping and I must say, he had a lot more stamina than most. The other men would bring their girls and we would all ride and race together but my man was far stronger than any of them, and even as he got older, he was still able to thrash many of those young upstarts and their pretty new girls.

The man's wife never seemed to mind the time we spent together and although there were times his attention was focused elsewhere and we could not go out He never neglected me and made sure I was always well provided for and in return, I was always ready when needed.

Unlike so many, this fellow was faithful and despite my advancing age (and his) we never failed to find pleasure in each other. I have to say that at some 70 years old, he was still a fine looking man and think our time together had kept him fit and strong while many of his peers either withered, got fat, or simply died.

When I saw the new girl I briefly thought she had been brought home to replace me, as she was shinier and prettier, and good god, was she fast. I think that the silly man thought my weight, which had never changed in all these years might slow him down. The man started spending a lot of time with the new girl and I was worried I might be abandoned but I discovered it was nothing like that.

My man would come and take me out every Sunday and we would go for long rides together, but never at the often frightful and delightful pace we both enjoyed in our youth. Because of our slower pace, the man's wife even joined us from time to time... they seemed very happy and I don't think there is anything nicer than being able to spend time doing things with the people you love.

It was a dark day when the man took the new girl and left the house never to return...they had gone racing, which I had finally approved of since I realized that perhaps, I was a little old for such things.

But something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

I think part of it was my fault because I may have taught the man things that worked for me that did not work for the new girl... we older English girls can be a little quirky. They say he may have forgotten that we were very different and that besides being able to go faster, she also stopped much faster although I don’t think she meant to throw him off and into the tarmac.

He was killed and I never saw the new girl again but truly hope that she wasn't scrapped.

After that I found myself moving from place to place and finally found myself alone in the dingy basement of a strange shop. After nearly a year of sitting in the corner I began to think that there weren't any men left that would find an old thing like me to be attractive. In all honesty, I was looking a little dishevelled and could not have compared my looks to the shiny new girls upstairs.

I felt that I was nothing more than a piece of scrap waiting to be crushed and this is the stuff of all our nightmares, since so few of us are ever saved.

I had almost given up hope of ever being rescued from the dungeon that had become my home when a young and very fit young man came over to the corner where I was sitting. His eyes were wide open and he seemed a little out of breath... then he started pulling away the boxes that had been piled around me.

He just stood there looking at me for what seemed like an eternity and then told me I was “beautiful” and that he thought he would never find me. He actually trembled when he picked me up and carried me out of that basement and into the sunshine which I had so been missing.

Apparently, my value seems to have appreciated over the years and that there are indeed, men (and now even women) that seek us out and find our age to be what is most attractive about us.

He took me home that day and spent hours running his hands all over me and cleaning every inch… and he didn’t seem to mind that I was looking a little worn and tired but actually relished in my imperfections... my patina of age, so to speak.

This somewhat old fashioned young man found some pretty new skirts for me and it is now hard to believe that is has been 53 years since I had been liberated. Because of this I thought that we would probably be going on leisurely Sunday rides and expected that with the skirts, that he expected to be get caught in the rain.

We were on our first ride together and imagine my surprise when the man and I hit a long stretch of road and he stood up and showed me things I had thought I had forgotten... he too showed me that he could ride me hard and fast for hours and more importantly, that I could still be ridden just as hard as I had been in my youth.

We have now travelled many miles together and take great delight in shocking people when go by them and we also like to take is easy and go for longer trips in the country where the journey is now what is most important. This is not to say we don't still like to go hard and fast when the mood strikes us.

I now live with a bunch of nice girls and many of them are even older than I am… the man takes very good care of all of us and makes sure we all get a good amount of attention. I have to say that I feel like a young girl again and don’t mind sharing my space as these other girls also have some interesting stories to tell.

Quite seriously, it is not in a bicycle’s nature to be jealous although I do sometimes wonder about the French girl "Bridgette", as she gets a little peevish when the man doesn’t spend enough time with her.

We all wait for spring as then the man just won't look at us but will come and take us out to play in the sunshine and I have to admit that I am looking forward to being taken out to see if can still show these young girls a few things.

So we will wait...

Signed...

USAZorro

Mine are still in Foo gossiping about me.

JunkYardBike

"Lose some weight, you ******!"

top506

"I wish this guy would build some muscle mass and learn to spin; I'm tired of crawling up hills!"
Top

nlerner

"When is he ever going to get around to finishing up the work that he needs to do on me?"

Neal

East Hill

I still think Sixty Fiver has been following me--how did he know all about my background ?

East Hill

CV-6 

(My LeJeune which I have had since 1972)...Why does he have all those other bikes? What's wrong with me? He got me all fixed up and pretty again and hardly rides me. Has he forgotten all the good rides we had together? Ugh...a Peugeot...how gauche. At least the Moto has some class. That snooty Raleigh...how rude. But then the English are uncultured.

Rabid Koala

"We want to go out more, we're tired of hanging upside down in the garage."

East Hill

Just us Lankies.

East Hill

bigbossman 

Mine just mutter, "This is SO humiliating".

John E

True. Capo #1: "Ich bin ein Fahrrad, nicht ein Fledermaus!"

bigwoo

"Lose some weight you fat American B*stard!"


(Great writing 65er!)

CV-6 

Do recall that was a French bike speaking....

bonechilling

"Please stop snowing already!"

redneckwes

"Dude, please put down the wrench, my Derrailleur is fine."

"Where are my wheels? Has anyone seen my wheels?"

"I am really getting tired of being a frameset!"

JeanCoutu

I think mine would mostly cry.

lotek 

My Pogliaghi:
siete molto più lenti di voi sguardo

East Hill

Oh! 'Twas indeed. Well....ermmm...yeah, I think you have me there!

East Hill

Sixty Fiver

Chapter 2...

Things have changed a great deal since those days when I was still shiny and new and there are few of us that can claim to be as old as I am…. and I still remember.

We were everywhere in those days and it was really only after that terrible war that I saw our numbers start to decrease as more and more people adopted driving those abominable cars instead of riding us and many of them were moving away from the center of the city and into these things they called suburbs. Although we still could have carried them these distances with ease, they only chose to take us out on evenings and weekends and I must say, the people also seemed to have started getting heavier.

I blame it on the cars.

By the late fifties it seemed that only children still rode us and even found myself wishing I wasn’t as tall so that some young boy might take me out to explore the world. I lived vicariously through the stories the little ones told after they were put in the shed where I was being kept and where I spent most of my days and nights.

I must say this was far better than being chained outside like a dog, as they don’t have the same tendency to rust.

The sixties and seventies were a wonderful time as one of the boys I had watched grow up took me with him to a place where I seemed to be everyone’s and where no-one seemed to have a sense of ownership… if someone needed to get somewhere they would just grab me and go and it was then I found myself sleeping out of doors in all kinds of weather.

I didn’t mind this as I was doing what I was made to do and since I have never been vain, a little rust didn’t bother me.

When I started to look a little shabby they decided to paint my once beautiful skirts and chain guard a bright shade of blue and paint my wheels purple which was rather psychedelic and don’t know why they did not paint the rest of me…I think that whatever they were smoking had something to do with that.

It was a dark night when I awoke to find myself being taken by a man I had never seen and knew I was being stolen… I guess that those nice people (I think they were called hippies) never thought I was attractive enough to rate a lock but I now know that some people will steal anything.

I wasn’t used by this man for very long after this as after my tyres went flat I was simply left in an alley and then taken by another fellow to what I thought was a bicycle graveyard… we were piled everywhere, many were hopelessly rusted, and many were missing their wheels and other parts.

I was leaned against a wall and my wheels sans tyres, were placed beside me and I then really lost track of how many years passed as I was baked in the summer and frozen in the winter. I watched as many people came and went and began to realize that this graveyard was actually a place where an old bicycle, or their good parts might hope to be resurrected and put back into use.

My age and shabby appearance probably had something to do with no-one seeing me as did the grasses and small trees that had begun to grow up through my frame... my saddle was gone and all that was left of that was it's frame.

It was early spring and I was still buried in the snow so that only my handlebars and curved top tube were showing and I discovered that this is what caused the man to pull me from the snow… I realize the new ones don’t look anything like I do.

For one thing, most of them have great bunches of gears and I wonder if people have become somehow become weaker… when I was new most of us only had one gear.

Anyways...

He pulled all the grass from my frame, picked up my wheels, and brought me inside to the warm and dry shop and immediately proceeded to tear me apart. Because I had seen this happen so many times before I thought that my parts were going to be used to resurrect some lucky bicycle and that I was about to die.

You cannot imagine my joy when, instead of throwing me out to the pile of discarded frames, he started putting me back together…

I was still rather scruffy looking but my tyres had new rubber and my wheels were spinning as smoothly as they did when I was new. An old saddle was fitted, and I was given a new chain as my old one was almost rusted to nothingness.

I carried him home that very evening and have to say, I felt really good as I was smooth and to my surprise, rather fast for such an old thing. I was brought to another place where there were many more old bikes and they have told me that he takes very good care of them, and that they never have to sleep outside.

They also tell me that many of them came here in wretched shape… the beautiful French girl said she was minutes away from being crushed and my 68 year old cousin says she was nothing but a frame when she came here. We were both born at Canadian Cycle and Motor (CCM) and she is almost as old as I am.

So now the man takes me out often and does not seem to be embarrassed by my shabby appearance and even looking as I do, people still ooh and ah when they find that I am seventy five years old.

I also understand that I will be getting a new coat (of paint) and that perhaps, I have become just a little vain in my old age.

roccobike

( My 88 Nishiki Ariel) Geez, I wish you'd make up your mind which fork you want me to wear. First its the steel one, then that black Suntour, then the Rock Shox didn't fit, now that gawdy Duo-track, I feel like a Wal-Mart bike. And you keep on bringing home all those orphan, skinny road bikes. They don't do anything, just sit around and complain. When you brought home those two newer Specialized mountain bikes, I thought I was a goner. Instead you ride me on those awful sandy MUPS with all the horse poop on them. Yechh! I can't stand it any more.
What's that, I'm still your favorite bike!................Sniff, Sniff........OK All is forgiven.

luker

they all say the same freakin' thing.

"go for a ride. go for a ride. go for a ride, ferchrissakes. go for a ride."

over and over. enough to drive a person nuts. I just don't go out in the garage in the winter.

bigbossman 

"watch where you're going" "turn left here" "slow down!" "look out for that truck" "are you blind?" "does this saddle make me look fat?"

redxj

My track bikes to me: "Who are you kidding fatty you need gears! "
My geared bikes to me: "Nice of you to grace us with your presence fatty!! "(I ride fixed more than geared)
All of my bikes:'' Have another smoke! " This one would be after choking and coughing a lot.

bikingshearer 

Pretty much covers it for me, too.

bikingshearer 

No, that's what I say when I ride with you.