Graham clip-clopped into the kitchen after his morning ride along the Fernleigh Track when his phone pinged.
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G, another bloke has come off his bike after getting caught in the tram tracks broke his leg and shoulder. Were organising a protest to have a new bike lane put in. next sat at 10.30am pacific park. C u there Brian.
Graham was wearing his bright Lycra top, tight cycling shorts and wrap around sunnies.
His wife Gwendolyn had tried to convince him that he looked ridiculous dressed like that, with his pot belly and protruding love handles.
She didnt know how the tiny little racing bike held his ample weight.
Graham showed her the message.
There was a photo in the Herald the other day of a worker filling in the tram tracks on Scott Street so the Supercars could go across smoothy, Gwen said.
Thatd be right, wouldnt it. Theyd do anythin for the bloody Supercars and nothing for the bike riders. You cant even ride or walk through Newcastle East for weeks while those V8s suck the life out of the town. Its a bloody disgrace whats goin on, Graham said.
Here we go again, Gwen mused.
Thats the guvment for ya, Graham continued. They promised thered be a bike lane but, no, its just for cars and that bloody useless light rail. Them tram tracks are a death trap for bike riders up the East End.
You know, my old Pop used to ride over a lot of railway lines riding to work at the BHP. There were hundreds who rode bikes back in those days. No one ever complained or fell off, Gwen countered.
Yeah, but, their bikes had big tyres back then, so they couldnt get stuck. Its all different now.
Why is it the governments fault? she asked.
For Christs sake Gwen, dont start!
Graham didnt want a debate with his wife of 37 years about the rights of cyclists. Since retiring hed become an avid rider. His whole life seemed to revolve around bikes and injuries from mishaps.
Why do you have to ride where the tram lines are anyway, when you can go another way? Why do people put themselves in those positions? Youd think the cyclists would know better, Gwen said as she busied herself at the sink.
Graham poured a cup of tea and sliced some bread for the toaster.
The government want people to get off their arses and lose weight, yet they make it hard for us. Theres no consideration of ordinary people like us. Whos gunna use the tram anyway? Its a folly and a big waste of money. Graham began to get on his high horse.
All Im saying is, that Pop rode across lines of steel and never fell off once in 30 years. So whats the difference? He rode in his work clothes and no helmet. They weren't lit up like a Christmas trees in Lycra either, Gwen fired back.
The laws are different now. You have to wear a helmet or you get fined. And everyone wears cycling gear. Its what you do when you ride a bike, Graham responded, trying to take the heat out of the discussion.
Those new tram tracks would have been made by BHP if they were still operating you know, Gwen reminisced.
Who knows where theyve come from, probably China. The trams been made in Spain for Christs sake! They could have been made here in Cardiff! Thats the guvment for ya, Graham repeated his mantra.
Pop and his mates liked to ride to work because it meant they could get across the hill and down to the Stag and Hunter for a few beers after work before the rush. Theyd just lean their bikes against the pub wall. They didnt lock em. Everyone knew each others bike. Then theyd ride home three sheets to the wind drunk. But they never got caught in the tracks like they seem to be doin now, Gwen persisted.
Barry had his new bike taken last week in the mall. He took his eye off it for 30 seconds while he ordered coffee. When he looked around it was gone. No sign of it ever since. Paid over seven grand for it fully imported, light weight carbon fibre frame, Graham lamented.
Why would you pay that much for a bicycle? He already had a good one you said.
Graham shrugged. He hadnt told Gwen that his bike had cost him five thousand.
Pop and his mates had Malvern Stars. All made in Australia from good BHP steel. Back-pedal brakes, mud-guards and no gears. His was red because he reckoned it would go faster. It was in his shed when he died you know? He had it all his life. Used to give us a double on the handlebars when we were kids. Gwen was on a roll now.
Graham had heard this story, and many more, about Gwens grandfather. He let her talk while he ate his toast and Vegemite. The words washed over him.
The following Saturday Graham rode into town to the Pacific Park protest. He told Gwen there could be up to a thousand bike riders who planned to ride all the way along Scott and Hunter streets.
He kissed her on the cheek and told her that hed be home for lunch.
After grocery shopping and cleaning, Gwen was preparing sandwiches for lunch when her mobile rang. She did not recognise the number so she didnt answer.
A few minutes later, she heard her mobile buzz.
Gwen, this is Barry, one of Grahams cycling mates. Hes had a fall.
The ambos took him to the John Hunter unconscious. Didnt have his helmet on. Got caught in the lines of steel. Looks like concussion, dislocated collar bone and lots of bark off his legs.
He brought down seven others.
Please ring.