The Giant Must Go

 I don't know if anyone has noticed, but I like to go for a bike ride occasionally.  I came to bike riding late(er) in life, and my first 'proper' bicycle was a little Trek which was, and still is, a pleasure to ride. I still have the Trek, mainly for purposes of nostalgia.

Back when one little Trek was enough...

 

After riding the Trek for a while I succumbed to the bicyclist's disease, which is that the ideal number of bicycles is one more than however many you have, and I bought another bicycle.  A Giant, this time.  The Giant was an awful bike: the brakes always rubbed, gear cables snapped with monotonous regularity, it rolled at the speed of cold molasses.  We persevered, the Giant and I, but it was never going to be a forever relationship although I have to concede we had some good times together.

We made it all the way to the Head, the source of the Condamine River, the waters of which, eventually, flow out to sea through the Murray mouth at Goolwa.

The Giant took me on my first tour, back before I learned how to pack a tidy bike.  True to form, it snapped a gear cable on the first day, condemning me to getting off and moving the chain myself if I wanted to change gears.

Forest time.

We did the Brisbane Valley Rail Trail together (OK, Roger and his bike came too).  I had a much tidier set up by then.

 

Views over the Brisbane River valley and highway,

and back down the valley as we ground up the hill from Linville to Blackbutt.

Then I bought my new bike and, fickle soul that I am, the Giant was cast aside.  

 

New.

 

The Giant mouldered for a while beside the Trek in the shed, but in keeping with my philosophy of Throwing Out Things That I Don't Use it had to go.  Today I rode the Giant along the linear path beside the Torrens and donated it to the Adelaide Bike Kitchen.  "You can have this,"  I said.  "Just let me keep the pedals and the handlebar mount."  

"No worries!" A bright young person with beautifully painted fingernails put the bike up on a stand.  "We'll have those off in a jiffy!"

The Giant put up a fight.  The pedals conceded defeat after twenty minutes, some muttered bad words, and a very red-faced young person.  The handlebar bag was made of sterner stuff, and resisted for a further twenty minutes before all conventional methods had been exhausted and the Adelaide Bike Kitchen staff brought out the big guns.

Angle grinder time.

 

And just like that I walked out on my old bicycle and the relationship was over.  Cold-hearted soul that I am, I walked the 6km home along the Torrens without a twinge of regret.  I'm sure the Bicycle Kitchen will find a good home for the Giant.

I'm off to polish my bicycle now.