My darling Roger and I were reunited last weekend.
In preparation for the big move I cycled him to our storage garage so he could be safely stowed away. It was wonderful to be back on him, but felt utterly bizarre.
He's soooooo sit up and beg, I felt like a lady on him. I'd forgotten what a bent handlebar felt like. His seat was a squishy cushion in comparison to Reg's hard racer and my bottom didn't know what had hit it. His tires were enormous, at least 35mm and in desperate need of reinflation after a few months out of action. I cleaned and oiled him before storing him completely out of reach of the rain so after a quick pump he was ready to go.
Looking at the speedometer I was horrified as the number 15.5 popped up. It was a couple of miles before I remembered that his speedo was set to miles instead of Reg's kilometers.
His frame's a lot longer than Reg's and, in fact, I felt slightly less stable on Roger but I was a little welled up with emotion at the thought of us being together again. I was on his top gear for most of the journey and I giggled at the thought that I had started so low down on the gears when I started cycling. We got to the garage and he was carefully tucked in by Mr Weenie.
I was drawn back into memories of our first trips together, the wobbly progress we made as I took my first tentative pedals. The canal fall, the first endless trip all the way to work, my first trips into central London and the long trips that were desperate attempts to knacker myself out and counter the insomnia of worry when my dad was ill.
Roger was a cheapo starter hybrid and Reg is a flash roadie but I love them both the same and for very different reasons.