ON YER BIKE: Lusting after geeky folding cycles (From thisisoxfordshire)

ON YER BIKE: Lusting after geeky folding cycles

I HAVE always pitied those balding types who lurk on railway platforms, notebooks in hand, furtively recording train serial numbers.

Ostentatious cameras rocking gently on pot bellies, their inscrutable eyes are hooded by sinister reactolite spectacles or squint into fold-up binoculars.

This incomprehensible pastime seems some sort of adult admission of a lifelong struggle with failure. It starts with unpopularity in the playground, is compounded by anorak jibes in early-adulthood, and culminates in middle-age with a coming-out at the quiet end of a station platform.

The bicycling equivalent of trainspotting is the folding bicycle. Originally the exclusive preserve of crazy-eyed city gents or thin men with suspiciously pallid complexions, more recently folders have been seized on by train commuters of all shapes and sizes.

I used to regard riders of folders with a certain disdain. Older, a little richer, but none the wiser – my views have softened. The murky world of bicycles was reeling me in. I got over the diddy wheels and learnt to appreciate Bromptons. I enjoyed the annual Brompton World Championships at Blenheim. I could see that they were fast, light, comfortable and useful, but I simply could not get over their geekiness.

Bromptons, I realised, would always be one of those bikes that “other people” have.

I travel to London a few times a month for work, parking my cheapest bike in the station bike racks. Every rush hour train to London has 20-plus Bromptons on board, nestling neatly in the luggage racks by the doors. Green Bromptons, yellow Bromptons, blue Bromptons, Bromptons with Brooks saddles. Bromptons, Bromptons everywhere and not a drop to drink.

I had to have one. With prices starting at over £700, Bromptons are strictly for the wealthier cyclist. I couldn’t afford a new one. I tried unsuccessfully to persuade my wife to buy me one half-price via her work’s Cyclesheme. And anyway, as I already have four bikes, she resisted housing a fifth, even if it would fold up smaller than a footstool.

Buying a legit second-hand Brompton is no mean feat, but it was my only option. It’s worth avoiding cheaper imitations. And if you think Bromptons are extreme, go and gawp at a Moulton folding bike in Warlands on Botley Road. Moultons look positively disturbing, a real Hannibal Lecter ride.

Then, something quite unexpected. My wife gave me the best birthday present I have ever, ever had: a beautiful, red Brompton with six gears and a huge front-luggage bag.

It had been sourced secretly from an old pal who no longer needed it – or, more likely, who needed £350 more than he needed his Brompton. For who would sell a Brompton if they didn’t have to?

If you love bicycles, you’re fortunate. It’s a cheap(ish) habit. I have my specialised racer, my mountain bike, my single-speed pub bike, my classic 1950s Raleigh – and now my Brompton.

I am one happy bike buff. Car fans would have to shell out half a million to stable the motoring equivalents.

Of course, I now own all the bikes I will ever need. No longer shall I covet sexy single-speed converted racers. Well, maybe I can look if I don’t touch?