Mass conversions

Brethren and sistren of the pedal:

No doubt you’ve heard restless stirrings from backyard sheds, whispered mutterings at the back of the peloton, or perhaps even the shriek of grinder upon metal (and every now and then the odd bloody bit of thumb, but the less said about that the better.) You’ve heard Horatio’s glorious tales of Old Gold. You’ve heard brothers Jamie and Tony hint at the furtive turning of spanners in the night. We all heard brother Clunt’s forking cry for help.

Well, brothers and sisters, it’s time to step out of the shadows and into the squinty light of dangly fluorescent tubes, the ones illuminating Sacred Quests and dingey man- (and woman) caves alike.

Indeed, the hour is upon us. It’s time to heed the call, the shrill ring of mallet upon steel (and don’t ask what that was for.)

It is time to build our steely singlesteeds.

Be tempted not by false idols or — Comet: — fancy aluminium baubles  for The Man speaketh the Word and the Word is “Steel” because Steel, baby, is Real.

As the long darkness descends upon us, let us search garage and garden shed; let us scour the dusty corners of the interwebs for ancient relics. Bring the lost and forsaken unto the Holy Workbench where we will stand back on our heels, fingers stroking our beardy chins, and contemplate The Work.

We will furrow our brows and grease our fingers — wiping them not on the trousers our spouses will wash, but on the rags put aside for this purpose — and scrape away the flakey paint and rusty bits. Their silvery bones laid bare, with good grace and divine guidance [1], we will resurrect these old souls; dress them in triple coats of supergloss enamel, with gleaming cranks and freshly oiled chains, and shiney cable housings. Yea verily, brothers and sisters of the wrench, we will pimp our rides.

(#1: — Eternal thanks in advance to the Thornleigh Speed Shop and Bucky’s Bike Shed for correcting all our f*ckups; sponsorship terms, conditions and contracts are in the post.)

And when at last the long, cold winter is behind us — long after the last drops of Belgian ale and single malt whiskies are wrung from their barrels — we shall don the Robes of the Chafed, the glorious Egg and Tomato, and emerge triumphant in the warm and golden sunrise, singlespeeding as one upon our Quest, the Springy Steel Fluffer™ (TBA) to spread The Word amongst the Bitter & the Twisted.

— The Disciple

Leave a Reply