Jungle fusion pioneers
When I was little, I got a bike for my birthday. I was dead chuffed. It had 15 gears, it was blue (my favourite colour) and when I saw it was called ‘Jungle Lightning’ I knew I was going to be the coolest kid in all Winchester.
‘Wow, ‘Jungle Lightning’. This bike must be amazing! What a metaphor!’ I expect the kids cried. And that’s fine. Everything’s about what makes you sound like you can battle aliens when you’re seven.
But the next thing I know, I’m some sort of adult, and I want a bike. So I stroll into Halfords and ask the man what’s what when it comes to bikes for adult-type people. And when he does, I can’t help but chuckle.
“Yeah, so we’ve got the VooDoo HooDoo, the Paradox, The Urban Pioneer, the Banshee, the Valour, the Fury...”
They’re amazing aren’t they? Like some new elite team of marvel heroes; wonderful hyperbole for what is still just two wheels and a frame. And yet the aspiration of the names makes me really happy. (Although I do like the idea of naming bikes more mundane, honest things like ‘The all-new Apollo Ache’, or ‘The powerful new Raleigh Heave’.)
One of our Writer people owns a bike called ‘Space Falcon’, and something tells me it will never live up to that as she battles vans, buses and insidious people on terrifying bikes named ‘Stealth’ as she glides into work. I personally love that products live in a fantasy land where our kettles are called ‘Serenity’, our shoes are called ‘Anarchy’ and our razors are called ‘Gillette Fusion Power Gamer Razor’. Just so long as we all know they’re a little bit silly. Because I still want people to stare in awe (and confusion) when I mount my ‘Paradox’.
So tell me, what’s your bike called? The one you ride now, or your past pride and joy.