Noises off and on

It was never enough to have just a bicycle.

It should have been as your own bike represented the first means of making your own way in the world.

Two wheels gave a freedom from parents and perhaps more importantly those younger brothers and sister, love 'em, who always seemed to be tagging along on foot in close proximity dragging a favourite soft toy or well worn blanket.

I ranged about far and wide on my first bike. Announcing at breakfast that I was going on a bike ride would instill panic in my parents at the thought of their son wobbling along a busy main road, mixing it nonchalantly with thundering HGV's and liveried local buses.

I was put through my cycle proficiency test as a minimum indicator of two wheeled competency and graduating from the class gave me a justified green light for setting off on my own.

My peer group also had their own cycles. In a small town with only one bike shop it was inevitable that the most popular make was well represented. By popular I refer to the translation into parental language as inexpensive, reasonable, well alright, cheap. This led to a fierce competition to customise and personalise our machines.

At the most fundamental level and with materials readily sourced from around our homes was the clothes peg attached to the front wheel forks and holding a stiff piece of cardboard. The rotation of the wheel produced a very satisfying clackety-clack sound and this became more accentuated and distinctive as you pedalled faster and faster down the street. A group of half a dozen of us moving at speed up the High Street imitated the sound of an aerial attack and town residents of a certain age to have experienced the real thing in the second world war could be seen rushing to take cover in shop doorways and the sole bus shelter.

One of the lads from wealthy parents was able to afford a battery powered gadget, about the size of a small rucksack under his saddle, which when switched on produced the sound effects of a motorbike engine. Pedalling at 10mph down the same High Street had an equivalent effect of hastening the crossing of the road by the elderly and infirm in expectation of a Hells Angel rolling into the otherwise sleepy urban setting.

Adorning the bikes was not the sole preserve of the boys.

Prising out the plastic stoppers from the ends of the handlebars was popular with the girls as it allowed them to insert colourful streamers. The stoppers were intended to prevent large cross sections from being taken out of young flesh in the event of an innocent tumble or a full-on crash. A gang of small lassies in full flight amidst the heat haze effect of the streamers was a marvellous sight to behold. Of course any such display had to be before tea time as they were not allowed out after 6pm.

I was particularly proud of a sticker that I had bought from a car accessory shop and which took pride of place on my blue plastic saddlebag bearing the words "Caution- Short Vehicle".

There were plenty of other bits and pieces to attach to our bikes. If bought brand new there would be a shiny chrome coloured bell attached. Of course this was removed as soon as doting parents had completed their due diligence of checking out tyre pressure, saddle height, tightness of essential nuts and bolts and that the pump worked.

We knew nothing of the mystery and protocol of what to do in the event of a puncture.

That was your Dad's role.

The bell would be replaced by a horn. You know the type. Black squeezy rubber bulb and stainless steel ear trumpet attachment. When squeezed it let out a parpy-parp-parp sound which was more comical than functional as a warning to other road users and pedestrians. 

These bolt on goodies were a source of voluntary noise on our travels.

Other noises were entirely beyond our control including such things as brake blocks rubbing on a buckled wheel, a creaking pedal axle from being bent scooting along the pavement, rattling mudgards, squeaky seatpost, twanging from perilously loose spokes, a stiff chain link going through the gears and the often violent escape of air from a bursting tyre.

It was, to us, like a true symphony - a soundtrack to a young life of carefree fun and adventure. Of course, to the public at large going about their business it was just about kids on poorly maintained bicycles.