The £50 Bike
by Mike Adams

Please read this first

What's this I see? Cycling shorts at £59 a pair. And over here a pair of pedals at £129. And in this window a front light for £150. Yes, you read it right, a Bobby-dodger for £150. Stop right there! You, the cycling public, must cease and desist from encouraging these lunatics in their pursuit of perfection at any cost. If you carry on along this road your heads will be so far up your collective ass you will resemble those hi-fi freaks of the Seventies. You may remember them, but if you are too young, I'll spell it out.

Forking out another grand for undetectable half percent of three-eighths of four-fifths of sod-all improvement in treble quality. That's what it was about. Spending loads of money on sounds only dogs could hear. For those people the wonder of Beethoven, the electricity of Ella Fitzgerald, the majesty of Queen didn't matter. Only the purity of the sound had value. They had forgotten why the world needs music.

Psychologists say it's the embodiment of the desire to take charge of our lives. We have so little influence over so many areas -- government, the weather, when we will die, whether the wife will leave -- that we desperately crave control over something. Some men beat their kids; some women shop until they drop. And for really tragic people it surfaces as a longing to possess the best. The grandest house, the fastest car, the most exotic holiday or indeed, the most expensive bike.

I used to flirt on the edges of this tribe. I used to take ridiculous pride in my possessions. After all, did they not demonstrate my success, my achievement? But I'm older now and with age comes a kind of wisdom. I have recovered and I can show you how to recover too, and you need not send me large cheques. Although you are always welcome to send me cheques; I just don't spend them on trivia anymore. No sir. I spend my money on £50 bikes.

And why not? What is a bike? It's ten quid's worth of tubing, two wheels at a fiver each, some gear thingies at a tenner and various bits and bobs for another six quid. That leaves a reasonable profit, less VAT, and everybody is happy.

You think it can't be done. Well it can, and it works. I bought a bike apiece for me and the missus 18 months ago. They came from a Sunday newspaper ad, supposedly mail order returns, but who cares. They were described as mountain bikes, but are in reality hybrids, a mix of styles that is surprisingly effective. Two thousand miles later nothing is broken or bent and I'm laughing all the way to the bank.

What you are supposed to enjoy about cycling, you can get for your 50 quid. The rush, the freedom, the fresh air; none of these requires you to get sucked into the capitalist loop of constant spending for smaller and smaller improvements. The law of diminishing returns doesn't apply to me; my bike's value is nil but it does 85 percent of what any bike does. I ride the Nissan Micra of the cycling world but I'm not in hock financially, emotionally or intellectually. I, and an apparently shrinking band of bikers, ride our machines without needing to show our superiority. We don't care if our frames are double-butted or the cranks are hollow. We pedal because we love the howl of tyre on tarmac, because we enjoy sweating up the impossible hill.

And don't think my cheap bike survives because I pamper it. Bridleways, old railway tracks, the pot-holed ribbons of tarmac that pass for roads here on the Isle of Wight: we ride them all. We get hot, cold and dry in turn and apart from a squirt of WD-40 once a week, servicing is nonexistent. Oh, I tell a lie. I did once strip down a pedal and apply a blob of grease to a reluctant ball bearing. I admit the tyres puncture easily, but as they are not yet half worn, I'll cope for another year or two.

The frame may be a pound or two overweight, but is strong, and being steel, if it ever breaks I'll weld it together again. By today's standards, the cantilever brakes look dated, but the bike stops quickly, quietly and the levers are funky. What more can you want except replacement blocks at £2.99 a pair? Not that the originals are worn out yet, I give them another six months or so.

Of course, my bargain buy is not perfect. The grips transmit every vibration. The solution is to wear gloves. The rear mech sometimes fumbles a shift, but it's always an upward change so it's not critical. And I find the steering bit quick, but my pal's Cannondale is the same.

Of course, no bike has it all as standard and we have added some extras. My wife's bike boasts a computer so we can watch the miles tick by. Naturally, we bought the base model at £7.95, but even this has functions we don't understand and it has survived the usual knocks and soakings. There's a computer on the market that offers 57 different functions. I'll say it again: 57! It's a joke, right? What can it measure? The number of flies you swallow per kilometer?

My bike is fitted with a £10 rear rack that carries everything we need on all-day rides and has never misbehaved. My brother's big-name tourer comes complete with a big-name price tag and a flimsy aluminium rack that flexes alarmingly. He is secretly furious and I am publicly pleased.

So there you have it, my theory of cycling. Concentrate on why you ride, not what you ride.

Of course, some cyclists have specialist needs. If you want to race, my bike is of no interest. If you get your fun thundering down slopes at suicidal speeds, don't even consider it. But most commuting, fun-riding cyclists might do worse than reassess their priorities.

But if I still haven't converted you and you must keep up with the latest trends, at least go for last year's model. The discounts can be huge and sometimes only the paint has changed. I can get £400 off last season's Marin at my local dealer -- the welds are perfect and the chain a shiny silver. I am tempted, sorely tempted, but then reality kicks in. For the £750 he is charging, I can get 15 of my kind of bike... no contest.