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The Bicycle as a Mode for Transport and Romantic Interludes
January 26, 2012
The simple bicycle has been around for hundreds of years. It is surely one of the world’s most amazing inventions. Name just one invention, whereby with less effort and input, more output is produced. The bicycle seems to defy the Einstein theory whereby for every action there is an equally weighted opposite action. The Dutch seemed to have taken the ‘more for less’ with gusto. Every morning and afternoon millions jump on the bike, going to and fro work, going shopping or taking kids to school. There are more bicycles than people. Especially with romance, the bike in Holland has always been an essential extension for meeting mates. First dates are usually conducted on bikes. If the bike ride blossoms into romance, both bikes might be seen lying between the reeds along a dyke or canal with the couple hidden from sight, perhaps getting acquainted away from the harsh metal embrace with a more softer more tactile manner. Not that riding bicycles in the Netherlands precludes having physical contact while cycling. Far from it, often the young and therefore more agile will be seen holding hands AND riding their bikes. I have often felt that the rhythmic moving up and down of thighs might well incur a hastening of passion, whereby the couple’s surging hormones might finally over rule and make for casting all cautions to the wind, hence those bikes hurriedly thrown amongst the reeds.
I was told by my mother that I was possibly conceived by this typical Dutch bicycle passion as well, not amongst the reeds but in the lee of a terrible storm. They had sought shelter from a really ferocious westerly behind a dyke and once out of the wind, one thing led to another, and nine months later… there, but for the grace of two Raleigh bikes, came I. Another very favorite form of couples getting together was the female getting a ride by boyfriend sitting akimbo on the metal brace between the handle bars and bike seat. A cunning and experienced male bike-rider would of course not be too obviously rubbing his thighs against the girl’s on one side and her buttocks on the other side. He would just occasionally, perhaps while rounding a sharp corner, massage the girl’s thighs with his. It was called the ‘coffee grinding method’ of wooing while riding. I am not sure what coffee had to do with it. I would have thought ‘potato peeling’ would have been a better and much more suitable Dutch description.
It seems sad that bike riding here in Australia hasn’t taken a leaf out of the experienced and romantic Dutch bike riding phenomenon. The whole show has been hi-jacked by a kind of Tour De France obsession. I have yet to see couples lovingly and sensually riding bicycles. It is all far too serious, almost manically. Why on earth all this uniform wearing? Who thought up wearing those sweaty Lycra tight fitting pants which according to medical experts kills sperms. Why on earth make wearing helmets law? Could you imagine, the ultimate of femininity and elegance, a Parisian woman on her way home from the Boulangerie with baguette in her basket, riding a bike with a helmet on? Non. Non.
Here bike riding is a sport not a mode of transport or encouragement for wild uninhibited sex. They, the riders, are hell- bent over their handle bars, hands gloved, heads sheathed, feet shod in expensive riding Nikes strapped into pedals… One hundred kilometers today-two hundred tomorrow! The wheels are so thin; there is hardly any surface area that touches the road. The slightest pebble or loose surface and arse over head it all becomes. This type of racing bike cycling becomes perilously close to being a very dangerous method of transport. Those bikes are lethal except on the velodromes. No wonder helmets are introduced. Still, it is encouraging more people are taken to the bike and many shires are now introducing bike lanes.
However, I am not sure that riding bicycles in Australia will ever reach the level of transport or romance (with wild abandonment of those racing bikes amongst the lemon scented Australian gum trees) that the Dutch seemed to have infused and combined in their culture.

I’ve got a bike
You can ride it
If you like
Its got bells
And a basket
But I borrowed it…..
or words to that effect
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmW17QvUhRM
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The bicycle wheels that go around
encourage hurried love to go a-ground,
Be quick she whispers in his ear
Oh my love, do not hold fear
I am somewhat slow in getting there,
but…
move up, move down, this is so much better,
than the peeling of a pear.
( alternative, or the fighting of a bear.)
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A bike in our country is an unlikely vehicle for gettin’ a leg over? 🙂
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Good article. You managed to make something out of nothing. You didn’t even mention China and all its bicycles.
I am afraid that I don’t believe the bit about your mother confiding in you;telling you that she had casual sex during a storm. However that may account for your grouchiness 😉
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They might have had stormy sex during a casual bike ride and somehow that story changed the other way around. I also find it hard to believe but as I am here they must have done something. Perhaps it was a ride through the tulips! 🙂
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No, you miss-understand. I don’t believe that she would have told you. It’s not a mother to son type story.
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Vectis Lad.
You are right that it seems an unusual story between mother and a son but, like so much of our past, we cling to those fragments of memories like so much debris that gets swept ashore. We might during the passing of time, embellish or decorate our memories of our parents, and the essence remains but the details imperceptibly changes. So while there can be no doubt about me having been conceived at some stage, those details just prior to the bombing of Rotterdam and it;s subsequent fire-storm might well have been more prosaic.
My mother also had a wonderful sense for the ridiculous, an almost magical way of spinning and turning adversity into a yarn. She had to, life did not give her many easy options. Two years of living with six children in a paper thin asbestos-fibro ‘temporary dwelling’ including with a severely schizophrenic disabled son, wasn’t the promised paradise. A sense for the ridiculous and good humour was the passport to get to the other side, retain sanity.
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Damn, I sold my bike, another avenue for romance closed…I might get another one. Still I meet some nice older gentlemen on my Milo walks…some of them most charming… 🙂
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Ridin’ along on my pushbike, honey.
When I noticed you.
Ridin’ downtown in a hurry, honey,
Down South Avenue.
You looked so pretty as you were ridin’ along.
You looked so pretty as you were singing this song.
Well, I put on the speed,
And I tried catching up,
But you were pedaling harder too.
Ridin’ along like a hurricane, honey,
Spinning out of view.
You looked so pretty as you were ridin’ along.
You looked so pretty as you were singing this song.
Sing a song!
A-round, round, wheels goin’ round round round.
Down up pedals, down up down.
But I gotta get across to the other side of town,
Before the sun goes down. Hey, hey!
Now we’re riding along on the bicycle, honey.
That’s a bicycle built for two.
A-lookin’ at my honey in the rearview mirror;
Now I got a better view.
You looked so pretty as you were ridin’ along.
You looked so pretty as you were singing this song.
Sing a song!
Around, round, wheels goin’ round round round.
Down up pedals, down up down.
But I gotta get across to the other side of town,
Before the sun goes down. Hey, hey
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…and you VL, looked so bloody handsome…what’s the girl to do…keep walking with Milo… 🙂
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Unlike it is in the land of dykes,
No Aussie bloke and chick with bikes,
Is likely to venture off intent
With romance on two wheels invent
Upon the grassy banks insiders,
Are most put off by snakes and spiders.
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