I'm A Grown Up Now

Last Friday, the 15th of August, 2008, was a memorable day in the life and times of Gez. It was the day that I asked my long term girlfriend of five years, Erin Slattery, to become my wife. She agreed of course.  Happy days indeed.

Some small details: I did the traditional thing and asked her father beforehand and thankfully, he thought it was a good idea. We went away to a small cabin in the mountains at Reefton that belongs to my uncle. I smuggled a bottle of Moet into the car to celebrate after I'd popped the question. I'd hid it in the cavity where the spare wheel goes so she wouldn't find it, because I knew she'd figure it out if she saw it (just to clarify, we don't generally drink top shelf French champagne). I didn't buy a ring. I'm no fool. I would never think to choose something that she will wear every day for the rest of her life without her being involved.

So...I'm over the moon. Judging from her emotional response and her lack of hesitation accepting, I'm fairly sure she is too.

The Joy of a New Bike

My mate Cam just got a new bike. He took it out for it's maiden voyage today and came back buzzing, which got me thinking that there's nothing like a new bike to put a smile on the dial.

A new bike is a joy. It's silent, clean as a whistle, has no scratches, dints or scuff marks and all the bearings and pivots and other bits and pieces run smoothly and freely.  The chain is bright shiny silver and smothered with sticky translucent green grease that most people wouldn't notice (Shimano chains anyway - never tried any other sort - why mess with perfection?). Better still, new tyres have small rubber 'hairs' on them and a great sterile, rubbery smell. Not that I've had a new bike for a while now - nearly two years in fact. I must be about due for a newie...  

One of my other favorite new things is socks. I love the feel of a new pair of socks - the way they just glide onto the foot, the firmness with which they grip the ankle and calf, and the smooth feel of the material against the skin. Then again, maybe its not so much the feel of new socks, but the promise that they represent. Sitting on the end of the bed in the morning and pulling on a pair of brand new socks promises so much more about the day ahead than putting on a bedraggled, holey old pair of socks.  Adorned with new socks, a man can step firmly into the uncertainty of the day, safe in the knowledge that his feet will remain comfortable no matter what. It's one of those 'it's-the-little-things-in-life-that-matter' moments.

Maybe the attraction with new stuff is its innocence - it hasn't been subjected to any kind of abuse or misuse. New stuff is perfection, nirvana, zen - nothing ever, ever works as well or looks as good as when its brand new and it's all down hill from the first time it gets used.

Not that I'm a materialist - quite the opposite. I hate the relentless accumulation of stuff. It'd be fine if it all remained as dear to me as when it is first purchased. But it doesn't. Mostly it just becomes stuff that fills up cupboards, shelves, drawers and life generally. Socks don't even have that luxury - they usually get thrown out once they are no longer functional as socks. Occasionally they get turned into bike rags (although they are usually not very good as rags - undies or t-shirts are much better). 

Anyway, as good as new stuff is, there's also goodness in old stuff. With use comes familiarity and sometimes familiarity is nice. Sometimes we associate good times with certain objects, and pulling them out of the cupboard again years later can bring a smile to the face. To finish where we started, with bikes, an old bike that is cared for and maintained becomes an extension of the cyclist. You know it and it knows you. You fit together. You know its creaks and groans and you know how to fix them. You know how it got all it's dints, scratches and scuffs and it knows how you got yours.