Last weekend, I flew down to Melbourne with my lovely wife Jennifer, to attend the wedding of our friends Greta and Brucey. I left my Brompton at home, because I delivered my sisters Townie to her, but got to cruise around Melbourne on it it, but that’s another story (why Townies are awesome).
I finally got a Brompton b bag to put the Brompton on the plane with. It’s got wheels on the bottom, so it was sweet to roll around the airport, and I didn’t have to take it to oversize luggage, because it was a little suitcase! Other end, no worries.
Anyway, we rode down thru Collingwood to the Yarra for a lovely ceremony. And then rode to the bowling club for a cool reception. About 1:30am we got kicked out, and rode back across dark parks, cyclepaths, under tunnels down streets, Jennifer carrying all our stuff in the Brompton front basket!
Accompanying us was a guy named Bernie, cracking gags, non-stop, just like he was all night. Tear-able! Now Bernie rides a sweet stripped down electric mobility scooter, and he was also dinking the photographer Caroline. Caroline did well to hang on, in retrospect, because she was pretty pissed.
At Hoddle street, I pressed the button to cross the lights, and turned my head, just in time to see Bernie chucking a mad mono , sparks flying, as Caroline stepped awkwardly off the back. Bernie crashed into the garden, and Caroline hit the deck. And didn’t get up.
A lump developed in my throat, and I thought she was paralysed, but finally, we hailed a taxi, and began the task of helping Caroline into the taxi. She wouldn’t let us take her to the hospital, but was clearly in immense pain. Bernie gave her his crutches and was shouldering her. Pretty funny . Now. Anyway, it was about 2:30, and it dawned on us that she would need someone to help her from the cab he flat. Shazam, I folded Jennifers Brompton, put it into the back, and was off to west Brunswick. Jennifer rode my Townie back to Fitzroy with Bernie. The taxi driver was giving encouraging words, “yoiu’ve gotta be a soldier!” and delivered us to West B, and then refused payment. Unbelievable. he just spent about an hour of his time in the middle of the night, with a bunch of pissed people, and wouldn’t let me pay. What a top bloke (from the subcontinent)
So, then I piggybacked Caroline up to her flat and sorted her out with some ice and elevation, and put the Brompton back together. I rode home, past the excellent Commuter Cycles, down empty dark, balmy Mlebourne streets and cycleways. 20 minutes and I was home.
So, bromptons are awesome.