Scrambled Channel

My life as a fakenger

I ride a singlespeed (lamely), own a crumpler bag and from time to time, I even roll up my trousers. Unfortunately I have a desk job, only do a few paltry miles a day and don’t have the most chiseled thighs or even suffer from erectile disfunction. How, you may ask, can I live with myself? Easy I tell you, with god’s help I get by. She’s good like that, she’d be even better if she was real (and hot). I digress however and need to abandon theology and get back to my confessional.

I currently ride an old steel roadie that I’ve converted to single speed. I have for some time checked out passing bikes to see if they had doffed their real derailleurs but my hand was finally forced when my old, but not classic, Holdsworth popped it’s flywheels halfway down Leith walk. In the event I got home but the prospect of not riding to work the next day filled me with horror. I decided it was time I learned how to use a chain breaker. Several butchered links later and plenty of time on Sheldon’s site, I had a dodgy yet functioning bicycle running a shameful 39:15. The track wheels are now in the mail. I had better change that ratio before I post to fixed gear gallery…

The crumpler I’ve owned for years. I’ll admit that it was the early rumblings of fakenger leanings that made me buy it. Despite the scorn it has drawn my way, it is quite practical. It’s a pity it possesses anti-Tardis qualities though, in that it seems smaller on the inside than it looks on the outside. It is well built though and has served me through many a muddy mile. Furthermore it’s a fetching orange and brown number and identifies me as a cyclist. I should have realised that it was the cycling commuter’s answer to a Shakespearean fool’s cap!

For the rolled up trousers incident I have no excuses. My descent into this vice was a direct result of having seen people on bike’s doing it. One day, instead of tucking my trolleys into my socks like normal, I rolled them up. To my surprise the sky did not fall in, nor did a purple thundlebolt strike my down. I got all the way home without an attempt on my life by a crack smoking taxi driver. I took this as a sign that any gods out there were too busy to disapprove of my actions. I also think I look slightly more attractive rolling instead of tucking.

So there you go, I’m a fakenger, posenger or whatever else you want to call me. I like riding my bike and I’m glad it’s not a grey hybrid. I’m fond of my bag and I’m glad it’s not a grey backpack. I sometimes roll up my trousers and prefer that to using cycling clips (do they really exist?) Hell, there’s probably a few bands I liked before you liked them. There’s perhaps even the odd author you like that’s totally derivative of someone that I liked, first. Sorry I’m all defensive but can’t we just abuse people that drive whilst talking on their mobiles instead?

Besides, I haven’t seen too many like me round here. Maybe I could be the only fakenger in Edinburgh. Better start a group on facebook or something…

Tags: bike, rant

No comments yet.

Leave a comment

You must be logged in to post a comment.