Instructor... etc

Every bicycle should have it's story. Just like a well-used first car, or a gifted mixtape/C.D. A short and sweet story of how and why it was that one.

Three years ago and moving to Amsterdam, getting my own set of two wheels was top of the list. I bought 'Big Red'. An antique military bike of Swedish design and what felt like several tonnage of weight. It was purchased via the Dutch version of eBay from a large gentleman who's name i forget. He explained that he had 6 of the bikes, all in different colours. His wife had instructed his collection to be halved.

'Big Red' is currently mounted on the wall of a suburban garage in Northamptonshire, semi-rural England. Patiently resting and waiting in storage for another European adventure sometime soon. Meanwhile i'm in Bogota exploring short cuts and pot holes with huffy. Huffy is a logical name, it's written on the frame of my new old bike four times.

Having ventured down to Calle 13, a recommended no-go area after dark, Huffy was presented to me when i asked for a bike i could ride while sitting straight. No mountain bikes or lycra for me. Carefully levered down from the shops attic, dusty and un-loved, I have no idea of Huffy's story before that moment. After some frantic tightening of nuts and bolts, Huffy, two other bikes and three amigos were ready for the long ride back to Calle 140. By this time it was dark and 'Lonely Planet dangerous'. The frantic tightening of bolts and fixing of screws had been too frantic. 5mins and 1km down the road, all the bikes were in need of repair. An edgy wait beside the freeway ensued. The bike shop owner turned up with a backpack of tools and apologies. 20mins later we were on our way. 40mins later we were again on our way, south instead of north, and further into the unknown of Bogota at dusk. Having asked a modest survey of people for directions, our predicted cycle home would take anywhere between 3-6 hours. 60mins after that we were at a bus station service yard re-attaching a pedal. Bogota has over 300km's of cycle paths, we couldn't find them, or north. 30mins later we were close to the airport, heading west and lost again, yet enjoying the close proximity of passing planes. 15mins after that we were dismantling one bike (pedal problems and a puncture) and putting one amigo into a taxi. 60mins after that, and edging close to midnight, three exhausted amigos were reunited at a chicken restaurant.

It was at that moment i ordered a beer & deluxe burger, and decided i'm not a vegetarian anymore.

Sure, Huffy's wheel bolts need to be tightened weekly to stop them falling off, the mudguards only serve to deflect dirty water on to my shoes & back, everyday brings a new rattle to my clumsy morning orchestra, and the brakes are dicey to say the least, but we've bonded.

So here's me, Huffy and Sunday Ciclovia's finest bike repair guy, Luis Guillermo Lanza Mora. He spelt his name out on a salsa flyer so i could add him on Facebook. He fixed a loose chain and flat tyre in 15mins, all for the price of a couple of beers. He was happier than he looks in this photo, and just as eccentric.

Sadly there are no photos of our journey home from Calle 13. The only piece of advice we did follow that day: don't carry valuables at night.

Love,

Glenn & Huffy x