Wheels of the fortunate few
BOB IRVINE
OUT OF MY HEAD
For the sake of dignity we’ll call them Jack and Jill. For the sake of preservation too because I live in their basement. Plus Jack enjoys minor fame – which I’ll express as a vast and loyal following in the draft of this piece I show him for approval – on one of those new media networks, radio.
Both are avid cyclists – in Auckland, a triumph of faith over experience – and both embrace new technology with a fervour normally abandoned at half their age.
When Jack and Jill go up the hill to fetch a pail of flat whites (they are the backbone of a cafe´based social cycling group), Jack is listening to music via his iPhone channelled by Bluetooth to speakers in his crown, or helmet. He can also make calls, or chat to other hi-tech helmet wearers nearby.
The turn indicators on the back of the crown – I couldn’t make this up – are a little OTT, not to mention dangerous because motorists behind will probably laugh so hard they’ll plough up the back of him.
Jill, meanwhile, glides up the hill on her new e-bike. Its power boost has taken the edge off her body pain and she loves riding again. Jack is a ‘‘grind-it-out’’ old testament cyclist whose beliefs are being severely tested.
As are mine. The ‘‘cheating’’ e-bikes are now lighter and smarter. They no longer behave like scrawny mopeds. Batteries hide in downtubes, and the pedals sense your level of exertion, throwing in just enough juice to make you feel staunch, yet decades younger.
E-bikes have arrived. Prices are falling, and even the lycra lotharios are glancing sideways behind their wraparound designer shades at a possible new filly to add to their stable.
Need I mention that a third of all new bikes sold in the Netherlands are electric? The Dutch, cycling gods, are cool with it. And if you need more, the AA recently announced that its breakdown vehicles will rescue stranded e-bikes.
As with all social revolutions, the dialogue is undergoing a massage. ‘‘Cheating’’ becomes ‘‘performance-enhancing’’, allowing the guns to boost their PBs. We’re a sport/pastime that celebrates innovation, after all.
In my calling as a style guru to the masses, it would be remiss to hold out against this tide. The safe money says I’ll go electric before the year’s out – as gamechanging as Dylan but with a better voice.
Meanwhile, a rash has spread over Auckland in recent weeks. It manifests as hundreds of small black-and-yellow cycles branded OnzO.
You can only gasp at the bravery of launching a bikesharing business in the most bikehostile location in the country. Wonderfully clever, though. You download the app that shows you where bikes are located, point your smartphone at the QR code on the headset, and the back-wheel lock releases.
Away you ride, then park it where you like, point the phone again, the bike locks and a text arrives telling you how much the hire cost (billed to your credit card).
Jack goes ‘‘Mr Toad’’ at the expression ‘‘download an app’’, so he was a keen customer. He drove to a nearby bike-path – it’s too perilous riding to cycleways – hopped aboard an OnzO, cycled for 20 minutes or so, and was billed the grand total of 50c.
Two-wheeled nirvana? Um, don’t cue a heavenly choir just yet. As mentioned, Auckland is the badlands for bikes.
The topography is often steep, it sprawls endlessly, you can’t cross the Harbour Bridge, bus bikeracks are unknown, cycleways rare, and most crucially, the streets are so crammed either side with parked cars that negotiating them and oncoming traffic is fraught.
Motorists are also cut-throat in this Los Angeles of the south, where driving to everything is obligatory. Few people walk, and fewer cycle, hence drivers lack a sense of how much room to give bikes – like they possess in, say, Christchurch or Nelson. Finding yourself the filling in an SUV sandwich is terrifying.
That’s not the only problem. OnzO bikes have been vandalised from both ends of the social spectrum. Bike and helmet often part company. The bikes have been tossed in the sea, perched atop bus shelters, and one even appeared for sale on TradeMe.
Lowlifes? Not necessarily. Three bikes were found chained up at Auckland University’s engineering school – presumably students guaranteeing exclusive use.
Reliable sources report two high-flying managers who keep OnzO bikes in their office or locked carparking space. In short, they’ve requisitioned OnzOs for private use – or stolen, as we say in the Boonies.These execs would be on six and possibly seven-figure salaries, incidentally.
The other snag with the bikes is they are small and single-speed, making for hard work on a decent incline. Jill is unlikely to be a customer.
When you’ve tasted caviar it’s hard to go back to cheese on toast.
The future of cycling is dynamic indeed.
Footnote: We’ve dubbed her Jacindarella, and her fairytale continues. Congrats to our ‘‘girlnext-door’’ PMand partner Clarke on their baby. Coincidentally, I’m just finishing up my position as ‘‘manny’’ to my grandson, so I’m handily placed for a consultancy role alongside Clarke in his new sprog-taming vocation.
My fees are reasonable in the Wellington climate – $500 an hour is ballpark – and there’s no bodily waste or mashed food I’ve not scrubbed out of a t-shirt.
I’ll flick them my CV.