Bicyclomania

In a city full of bicycles, I couldn't find a single one.

Delft is not a very big town, and the majority of it is occupied by poverty-stricken students. This, in combination with the citizens being Dutch, makes the bicycle is an extremely popular form of transport. Everyone from old men to babies had overtaken me at some stage. In Delft walking is for suckers and tourists.

So at the beginning of the academic year, a tidal wave of students washed over Delft and bought all the cheap bicycles, leaving me floundering in their wake. With the average price for a bicycle having peaked above 100 euros, my hopes of a 30 euro bicycle were squashed forever.

Not that cheap bicycles weren't available. In fact, my ever-loving next door neighbour Joost helped me to find one on the Dutch version of ebay, "Marktplaats" and call its owner to arrange purchase. It was only 30 euros and pretty spick and span, just a few scratches on the frame. But when you use a bicycle every day of the year thats only to be expected. With high hopes I walked the 40 minutes to Delfgrauw to claim my prize.

Esther opened the door and looked down her nose at me. She showed me the bicycle, and after one look my dreams of breezing past the pedestrians faded. Optimistically I asked her if I could try it out. She raised an eyebrow.... we both already knew what the outcome would be... but said that I was welcome to try.

Well I couldn't even get onto the seat, and just to add insult to injury I pulled a muscle in my leg trying. Dutch woman resemble giraffes, and I amongst them a short, squat pygmy. Their bicycles are stick-insect bicycles, all angles and long thin pieces. Disheartened, I hobbled back to the bus stop which I had so callously mocked on the way there, imagining how I would sail past it on my new bicycle as i returned home. On the way I passed oh so many tantilisingly un-chained bicycles. I had gotten to the point where if a suitable sized child had cycled past, I probably would have pushed him off the seat and claimed it for myself.

The next day I fronted up to the railway bicycle shop, the only one which had enough bicycles so that it was certain to have at least one for short people. A week early I had turned on my heel and left the place, shouting behind me "100 euros? pah! I spit on your 100 euros". But by this stage I was a much more humble consumer. I had been walking for so many days that my hips were commuicating with each other in a secret language of clicking noises every time I took a step. Meekly I entered the store and asked if they had any second hand bicycles for short people.

They had one, and I watched as the proprieter lowered the seat as far as it would go, emphasising how even a short bicycle was not short enough.
"Are you sure you can't make it any cheaper?" I asked
"But it has new wheels!"
"You can't even take 10 euros off the price?"
He bobbed at the knees like a frustrated child, repeating for the umpteenth time to this thick-headed Australian.
"But it is a very very good bicycle! It has new wheels!"

I had had enough. I bought the little bastard, and 125 euros later we walked out of the shop together. I despising it for it exorbitant price, and my demeaning reliance on it. It detected my mood and rolled sullenly along beside me on its new wheels.