I have made the transition to retirement very smoothly and happily. I am not bored, have a number of volunteer positions and activities that are satisfying and meaningful. I’ve been a grandfather for five years and my wife and I adore the kids and the new roles in our lives. We are both fit, go to gym and are fortunate enough to not really look like the early 60 years old we are.
However, just yesterday I reached a life landmark which has left me not exactly sad, but aware that something has been lost with age. After almost a lifetime of owning and riding a bicycle I made the decision to sell our bikes. That’s it. I have no bike.
I remember my first bike, given to me when I was 9 years old in New Jersey, a second-hand red and white Schwinn with plastic streamers dangling from the rubber handgrips. What a life changer! I could ride to friends, the park, school, without having to negotiate with my Mom about when or if she could drive me. What freedom! My friends and I would find the nearest hill and race down with the wind in our faces. No helmets then, and if we were in any danger we didn’t notice it in the slightest.
Then there was a new Schwinn ten-speed in 1971, on which I rode across the USA in my summer break in university with my good mate George. It was heavy and clunky by today’s high tech standards, but it served me well. That trip changed my life for the better, and Schwinn was again part of my life.
This was followed by, a top range Italian racing bike, an Atala, in 1972. This was a beautiful bike, one I worked all summer for, with Campagnolo gears, a super light frame, silk sew up tires, but it was stolen at uni after just three months and I never replaced it. I never got over its loss. Never before had something I worked so hard for and wanted so much been stolen from me.
There was a Gitane ten-speed which I rode when I led a group of teenagers on a four-week tour of Maine, the summer of 1974. Then, in the early 80s a Panasonic ten-speed with a kid’s seat for our first daughter and then for her sister. My wife and I, each with our precious passenger, would ride early summer evenings to the nearby horses and watch fireflies on our way home.
That bike came with me when I migrated from the States to Melbourne, and giant hybrids, one for me and one for my wife, good for riding to work or for casual, easy neighbourhood riding eventually replaced it.
I never was one of the lycra set and I never wanted to join the bumblebees zooming down Beach Road on a Sunday morning or straining up Mt. Dandenong Road. Their expensive bikes with the latest gear didn’t interest me. I preferred a leisurely ride, with my wife at my side, and my competitive athletic, or fitness needs were fulfilled by road running.
However, it had become increasingly more and more challenging if not dangerous to ride. Even a bike path has its share of maniacal Tour de France wannabes for whom a leisurely pair of 50-60 year old grannies is a cause for shouting abuse and scaring us as they zoomed by. Riding to work meant dodging trams, tram tracks and the many drivers who are clearly unsympathetic to bicyclists.
As I said, we are fit and active. We hiked Kokoda last May and are going to the Galápagos Islands this year, so giving up our bikes is not due to our level of fitness. But it had become clear that we will not ride again.
Is my decision unreasonable fear or sensible precaution? Whatever, one thing is clear. For me, biking was always meant to be fun, providing that childhood sense of freedom, to feel like a kid again. It doesn’t do that anymore.
So now, I have reached a new stage of life, no less memorable than the day I received the red and white Schwinn with its streamers and joined my buddies in New Jersey as we rode at breakneck speed down our neighbourhood hill.
Have you changed any significant part of your life since retirement? Do you regret it or are you happier for it?