Who would have thought that the cliché red sports car, the object of desire of so many forty and fifty somethings, that motorised vessel of youth, would be replaced with the desire to ride upon a simple, stripped-down bicycle that only last year was limited to the domain of the bike courier -- those thin, fearless warriors of the road, calmly and steadily delivering whatever is they deliver to lonely receptionists of a rainy city?
If the days of red Corvettes, Ferraris and Aston Martins are now gone, then what is the logical progression to the stylings of the bicycle courier? Well, in an urban environment the messenger is probably the closest symbol of working freedom. Usually paid a small cash in hand retainer and then rewarded with more for extra deliveries, it seems that these men and women are potentially off the radar, off the grid. And after a mid-life crisis of mortgages, children, marriages, and just a lot of life establishing oneself on the radar, being off it must seem to many a fantastic escape or even disappearance.
The theme of dropping out of society is, of course, a common premise and one significantly explored by both television and film: The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin, The Good Life, American Beauty, Five Easy Pieces, Lost In America to name only a few. And the act of disappearance and reinvention are revered if we are to believe that both J.D Salinger and Madonna (as polar opposites) deserve admiration for mastering the phenomenon.
Yet what is it that a 45-year-old man expects to achieve or to become by splashing out a paltry 500 odd quid on single speed? (I won’t say fixed-wheel because the majority of new riders can’t handle the physical demands of riding such a beast. Their knees are gone and so are the nerves. Yet the bike’s appearance is the same, no gears, basic, sleek, simple and light).
In San Francisco, bicycle messengers are mostly potheads, stoners who have never dropped-in never mind dropped-out. They are aloof and high. In Washington DC they are finely toned University athletes, ‘soccer’ players earning an income weaving in and out of the cars secretly carrying politicians under tinted glass. In New York City they are nearly aliens. The extreme seasons of very hot and painfully cold have welded body armor to their own skin. They barely speak a human language at all. They are so removed from the norm of reality…perhaps they live in abandoned subway tunnels like the Mole People. London bicycle couriers, like many of the breed, prefer to keep company with their own. In the spring and summer months they sit outside inexpensive pubs, Samuel Smiths and Weatherspoons, in their hundreds, drinking pints into the night. Some of them squat, and there are squat parties on the weekends, and because they live and play together they are not only a community but an economy onto themselves.
So, is this a lifestyle choice? No, it’s fashion. It’s a direct swap--£50,000 sports car for a £500 bike. Not a bad trade down. And the more ridiculous the bike the better the illusion of freedom and youth. A neon-green back wheel, perhaps? Why not throw in a ludicrously short set of handle bars? While you’re at it go with some orange coloured rims, three inches in length. Let’s also have the rear break off. Let’s live dangerously. Will it make you young and fearless…careless and sexy? Perhaps. Perhaps in the short term, yes; it will. And after all what is fashion but an ever changing trend? So pretend, pretend you have dropped out or reinvented yourself as a younger you. In a few years you can sell the bike on Ebay to an actual bicycle messenger and you’ll both be winners, and hopefully by then you’ll be happy with yourself and with who you actually are.
