1980s Alex Singer Campeur.
via eBay.
Of all the Alex Singer bicycles I covet, this is the one I covet most. It has the classic, Singer blue colourway. It is my size. It has ample standover (important when managing a heavily-ladened bike). It is custom-made camping bike fitted with custom-made Singer racks. The panniers attach low on the frame. It is a well proportioned. It has a neat integrated light (when I visited the shop I was told that routing the wire through the rack as the hardest and most frustrating part of putting a bike like this together). It is in good, original condition. It has 650B wheels. And, as it stands, it is a very pleasant window into a bygone era.
Anyway, different strokes for different folks.
Astute collectors typically prefer earlier Alex Singers with more custom-made parts. Or a Singer fitted with a Nivex derailleur. Or a vintage, original Rene Herse. Or a Nicola Barra. While I am old enough to like old bicycles, I’m also young enough to have started riding during the ascendancy of Shimano. I fumbled my way and found my feet during the crazy, frenzied activity that became the sport of mountain biking. This was an exciting time to be a clueless kid. I didn’t know anything about the French “constructeurs” or the history of cycling. Like many other kids I had a bicycle. And I had plenty of stickers. If I wanted something - seemingly anything - I could read about it in a magazine and discover that some clever, innovative company already made it. Then, as now, no one accused me of original thought. If I couldn’t afford it (which was almost always the case), I could put a sticker somewhere on something and the world became a better place. This was bicycling. And I was a part of it.
Faking it (I still have my “custom-made” socks).
But there was a time - a bit before my time - when many bicycles and components were not fit for purpose. The French constructeurs in the 1940s and the American off-road warriors in the 1970s-80s searched for solutions for bicycling through hilly terrain while carrying gear and/or tackling rough roads. If the stuff didn’t exist, then they went out and made it. Those were the halcyon days of handcrafted solutions. If the design was practical and the contraption worked (or showed potential) then it became the stuff of legends. Stories spread. Narratives documented. Alcohol consumed. Songs sung. Astute collectors have a deep understanding of such history and details matter a lot to them. Moreover, they take great pride in establishing and maintaining order. A universal law held by informed collectors is that the more original and complete an item then the less a custodian (a fancy term for the person who currently owns the collectible) should mess with it. This especially applies to important developments and landmark pieces.
Fair play if the “collectible” is the Rosetta Stone (inscribed 196BC, discovered 1799) or an original Magna Carta (1215, of which four copies exist). Or Don Bradman’s 1934 (Triple Century) Sykes & Son bat. Or Action Comics issue #1 (June 1938). But, in the majestic lineup of human achievements, you have to take a few steps down before you happen upon a narrow, much less visited alleyway where bicycle aficionados get animated by the mention of Ernest Csuka or Charlie Cunningham. Nevertheless, there are some important developments in bicycling that cycling folk hold dear. And, being cycling folk, they simultaneously want you to use the bike but also preserve it for its historic value. Interestingly, road bike collectors are much more uptight about this impossible conundrum than MTB collectors. Whether that means you can ride your 1988 Cunningham WOMBAT at Red Bull Rampage is open for debate. Sure, if you own the bike and are thinking about it, then you are a legend or a lunatic (probably both) with a death wish. But you do what you want. Just don’t break it.
The great thing about the Alex Singer campeur imaged above is that it is a pretty standard bike from the Singer workshop. It’s a nice enough rig to ring the “right” historic vibes yet unimportant enough to be used and customised. RockBros panniers and bright orange Voile straps? Go for it. Swap stuff out? Sure. Put some stickers on it? Yeah, ok (I prefer patches on bags but your bike, your choice). If you crash it.. Umm, fine, hope you didn’t hurt yourself. It’s a magnificent bike but there is nothing irreplaceably special about it.
In fact, it is still available through the Singer workshop.
In 1980 Françoise and Claude Hervé started to cycle around the world. It took them 14 years and they had a baby girl, Manon, along the way.
The bike is a Follis in case you were wondering.
Anyone who has read Asterix and Obelix knows the Gauls are crazy.
There was a time that people could disagree, even come to blows, then make up? No way..
Memories. We all have them. Many experiences, though not all experiences, lead to memories. And many shared experiences, though not all shared experiences, lead to shared memories. We know that memories get encoded, stored and retrieved. We know where various parts sit in the brain and how these parts communicate with each other. We know that short-term memory consolidates into long-term memory through repeated recall and repose. And that emotionally intense and frequently accessed memories are prioritised.
We even know about validated ways to manage that.
But the mind isn’t silent waiting for a command. At least mine isn’t. In fact it rarely shuts up. It is forever receiving and processing information. I try to ignore it but the damn thing draws me back in. Blank out and a vacuum forms. Eventually, I am sucked back into a mess of synaptic pathways already well-travelled, to places remembered, misremembered, forgotten, imagined. I can’t wake up. Because I am already awake.
Dark eh?
I’m used to it.
The human mind is a curious thing. It seeks autonomy outside of the squishy structure that (presumably) created it and imagines itself as an entity separate from the environment through which that structure travels. Some people say that we are three people: the one we think we are, the one other people think we are, and the one we really are. I think it is fair to say that the first two are as objectively real as such things can possibly be. I also think that it is fair to say that “the person we really are” is a superposition between these two objective realities. That is to say: it is neither one nor the other until pinned down. Yet pinning down a position misses the essence of what it really is (my apologies to Bohr, Heisenberg, Schrödinger, and every other physicist past and present for the misappropriation).
Not that it matters. In the absence of full good information the two objective realities are often loaded with so much bias and misinformation that it bears little to no consideration. I barely know myself and you don’t know me. I am a caricature of your encounters with me added to your imagination and your existing history. That may well change tomorrow. Or in a few minutes. Or next year. Ideally, who you think I am should be malleable enough to reshape or even U-turn as more information comes to light. You’ll need to keep up; I will change over time. To say nothing of the fact that you might too.
Again, such commentary assumes that autonomy can - somehow - be separated from the environment that created the structure which owns it. Cogito, ergo sum. Complex stuff in a dead language. I think, therefore I am mostly confused.
How about an environment that allows humans to remain curious, to explore, to change, to challenge, and to achieve? I’m no philosopher but that seems like a good idea.
What do you think of when you see this?
Boxing Kangaroo.
I immediately think of this:
Australia II wins the America’s Cup (1983).
How about this?
The Australian flag.
Or this?
The taxpayer-funded Australian Broadcasting Corporation.
When Australia won the America’s Cup in 1983 I was 13yo schoolboy attending grade nine at Dripstone High and maths was not particularly interesting. I didn’t do any sports (as far as I can recall I didn’t really do anything) but, like every other Australian, I followed every race of the 1983 America’s Cup. The secret winged keel on the Australian boat created so much hype and controversy that I think the whole world was watching. All of a sudden everyone was an expert on the inane “rules” that governed “12m” yacht racing. And everyone wanted to know whether the larrikin Australians would win. Win they did, coming from behind (3-1) and taking out the last 3 races in the best-of-seven series. Australia celebrated. It was early in the morning and our prime minister at the time explicitly stated, “Any boss who sacks anyone for not turning up today is a bum!”
I still had to go to school but I don’t think anyone learnt anything on that particular day.
Boozy before sunrise. This became Australia’s national song:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XfR9iY5y94s
It’s fair to say that the image of the Boxing Kangaroo has strong, positive memories for me. The image so thoroughly encapsulates the resilience and the “ave-a-go” spirit I see in many Australians. Nevertheless, hard-wiring a memory trace so that the image of a boxing kangaroo routes to a range of positive emotions is not an active choice. Like many things in life, it just happens. It was the right time and it was impactful. If I had been older, or had any understanding of animal behaviour, or had paid attention to history lessons I might have recognised that male kangaroos only “box” during the mating season, or to establish hierarchy, making the stress and energy expenditure worthwhile. That is to say, it is not some party trick made for human entertainment. Well, I know that now.. But this snippet of information does little to change my existing memory trace. If I had been any younger the memory trace (also known as an engram) might have been less intense, easier to change, or non-existent.
I have a far longer association with the colours and symbols of the Australian flag. Like many of my countryfolk I paid allegiance to the Australian flag and I remain a proud Australian. But the national flag represents different things to different people. My best mate in Dripstone High was an indigenous Australian whose uncle was a champion boxer. Dion (my mate) didn’t have any problems with people like me (I’m Asian) or with any other colour of people that filled the streets of Darwin. As far as I am aware Dion was fine with the Australian flag but some of his mates weren’t cool with it. As I grew up I became aware that some indigenous Australians saw our national flag as a symbol of invasion, colonisation, misunderstanding, overreach and subsequent repression (albeit all jumbled up together - “invasion” being the most emotive and commonly used term).
Many Australians served and many have died under the Australian flag. What they fought for, and what Australian’s have today, are a functioning democracy and a government that does an adequate job of redistributing wealth, providing safety nets, delivering taxpayer-funded health and education services, and regulating an open market economy. “Adequate” is a vastly under-appreciated word. It is usually contextualised and misunderstood as the lesser sibling of “better” which - often voiced in the minds of people - rarely bothers to show up. Adequate is high praise for a democracy. Sometimes the elected government leans left, other times it leans right. Like all democracies it is far from “perfect”. I’m from generation X and I grew up when the term “bludger” was used as a derogatory term for someone who didn’t pull their weight. Mental health and disabilities were concepts that didn’t exist or problems that people struggled with silently and sorted out themselves. The world was unfair then as it is today.
This was the voting pattern by demographic in 2019.
More accurately, a bludger is someone who can, but chooses not to, pull their weight. This draws a fine line. When is someone cheating the system? Is this an active choice? Is it appropriate to call them out? If not, can someone else - may be an action group or a political party - vent my rage? Australia created the NDIS (National Disabilities Insurance Scheme) to support Australians with permanent and significant disability. This is as Australian as Vegemite. Australians reach out and lend a hand for those they see as underdogs. The system was rolled out in 2013 and became national in 2020. In 2023 Australia had a total population just shy of 27 million, a working population of 14 million, and an NDIS that supported over 500,000 recipients at a cost of A$41.8 billion. More than a third of the recipients (35%) had autism as the primary diagnosis. The NDIS is expected to cost A$54 billion in 2025-2026 and currently supports 770,000 recipients. There has been intense debate about the rising number of ADHD and autism cases diagnosed in Australia.
Australians are notoriously egalitarian. To be part of a healthy, functioning society you first need to share the load. That means no dodgy behaviour. No shirking. When life is tough, you soldier on. Life is tough. Australians also don’t take orders from anyone. If you give orders, then show you can lead. If you lead, then lead from the front.
I am proud of the Australian flag. I believe that a society needs rules, that competition, work and self-discipline are good things, and that people should be allowed to reap what they sow. I also believe that the rich should pay a higher tax rate than the poor. Anyone who benefits from the labour of others cannot and should not tap out of society and the services it provides. When you buy a pair of shoes or have your rubbish removed an entire ecosystem exists to cater to that need. This means that tax avoidance in and of itself is morally unjustifiable. Those who have more should contribute more, because money buys opportunity and opportunity is objectively measurable. I also believe that Australians should never take their safety nets for granted as they are gifts paid for by taxpayers. I recognise that health and education are inalienable human rights, and the cost of delivering these services is mounting. I also recognise that what is deemed adequate is becoming unsustainable. Governments are meddlesome and are almost always less effective than the private sector. They provide essential services that free markets neglect, but are generally less efficient than private contractors. Governments spend money made by other people so the combination appears reckless.
I understand that charity without oversight can lead to dependency and displacement.
I also believe that Australian taxpayers should fund our national broadcaster, the ABC. Ground News (a news aggregator) determines that the political bias of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation leans left. The ABC represents a perspective that does not align with many Australians. An increasingly left-leaning Australian Labor Party dominates Australian politics. The right-leaning Coalition (the Liberal Party of Australia and the National Party of Australia) was decimated in the federal election on 3 May 2025. In their place, the One Nation Party, a minor party that leans to the far right, is on a steep rise and its proponents have harnessed the Australian flag in their sloganeering. The problem is always someone else. The problem is always simple. The problem is immigration.
I lean a bit blue and I lean a bit red. It’s all a bit bothersome.
Immigration of low-skilled workers is partly responsible for Australia’s poor productivity.
https://www.macrobusiness.com.au/2025/12/australias-productivity-collapses-to-zero/
Differences in opinion, beliefs, and ideology are an essential part of a healthy democracy. While the implosion of the Coalition was entirely its own doing, the hole it left behind cannot be filled by the One Nation Party. One Nation might speak for a few Australians, but the vast majority do not consider it worthy of their vote. For a start, One Nation leans heavily into the politics of race while Australians, broadly speaking, celebrate their multicultural identity. The current lack of a legitimate opposition has empowered the increasingly smug and increasingly left-leaning Australian Labor Party to break promises made to the electorate when they presented their Federal Budget just one year after their landslide win. Breaking an untenable impasse on negative gearing for property was overdue but the rest smells a lot like surrender. It now appears that the Australian Labor Party has become unhinged in the absence of a credible opposition. This is not how a functioning democracy survives.
https://www.cpaaustralia.com.au/policy-and-advocacy/budget-commentary
The Jevons paradox (and the related induced-demand paradox, among others) further complicates the many challenges facing modern society. In functioning democracies, the argument revolves around whether efficiency policies are counterproductive without the implementation of structural caps, taxes, and rationing. In other words, the well-oiled free market vs regulation debate. Some argue in the affirmative, others in the negative. Both sides have valid reasons backed by research.
Like many complex problems a paradox requires a considered, balanced approach. There are no simple answers. They are solvable in the sense that some solutions are better than others. An "adequate" solution may well be the "best" solution.
https://www.npr.org/sections/planet-money/2025/02/04/g-s1-46018/ai-deepseek-economics-jevons-paradox
In short, the challenges faced by a democracy are like a multi-headed hydra. A democracy survives when the opposing factions treat each other as legitimate, with arguments worthy of a response.
Reason and debate. Thrust and parry. Repeat.
In practice it’s a lot messier and nastier than that, but so be it.
There is something magical about doing a solo run or ride in a light dust of rain. The light is diffused and the colours are muted. Your other senses are heightened. Your ears pick up the gentle rustle of leaves. Your skin registers the cling and tug of damp clothes - like sweat but somehow different. You almost begin to wonder why. You smell the rain. Your legs gauge the point when your shoes or tires break traction. It’s cerebellar, automatic, like breathing and heart beats, but you pay attention. A wet tree root or a patch of algae and your body compensates instantly, appropriately. You surge. You hold your pace. You ease off. You notice.
You finish and clock back in. Your brain has been running quietly in the background. It re-engages with a world that includes other humans. Memories. We all have them. Everyone carries a collection of stories in their head. Comic books, French cyclotouring bikes, a collection of Italian racing iron, the image of a boxing kangaroo, the context of the Australian Flag. You wonder whether artificial intelligence will solve the paralysis of debate. And who you might vote for in the next election. You mull it over, even if this is not your thing. This is Australia. You are compelled by law to vote.
Your brain defaults to something easier.
I belong to Generation X (1965-1980), the last cohort to spend their childhood fully immersed in an analogue world. Back then kids rode bicycles everywhere. The first bicycle I remember riding was a rusting, yellow bruiser that looked like a motorbike with working front and rear suspension (this was the early 1980s - more than seven years before the Rock Shox RS-1). This brick of a bike descended like a thunderbolt, partly because it weighed a ton, and partly because the brakes didn’t work. It was the most awesome thing. But my family moved a lot, the bike got sold, and I had a lot of growing up to do. Nevertheless a memory trace was established at a formative time in my brain development. Whether an engram like that gets accessed and gains reinforcement would depend on a large number of factors outside of my control. As it happens, the trace has been accessed and reinforced.
Campagnolo invented the concept of the “gruppo” (an integrated system of brakes, gears, and drivetrain for a bicycle) in the early 1950s but it took another thirty years before Shimano developed a system that integrated functionally as well as aesthetically. First came drivetrains with indexed shifting in the mid-1980s, then came integrated brake-shift levers in 1989-1991. These wondrous contraptions continued to improve incrementally during my heyday as a young adult. This is the era of bicycling I am most comfortable navigating. Electronic gearing systems stuttered into existence with the Maruishi PC in the late 1970s and matured with the debut of Shimano Dura-Ace Di2 in 2009. Over the past 15 years the effectiveness of electronic systems and the many opportunities for wireless integration has led to modern bicycles becoming as integrated as a modern car. In many ways even more so, as the bicycle’s engine (or, at least, its primary engine) is its rider. This is an enormous step forward. And a source of some discomfiture for a middle-aged cyclist.
Cue: my brain for a pleasant window into a bygone era.
Cue: Google image search for melodramatic melancholy.
Cue: ChatGPT image creator (free version) for a middle-aged man in melodramatic melancholy surrounded by old bicycles in the style of Alphonse Mucha.
OMG. I am so not relevant.
The world is very different from the one I have inside my head. I suspect that this has always been the case. From what I read and the vibe I feel, the world is changing fast socially, environmentally, geopolitically, and technologically. It is an increasingly strange world. And, not just a strange world for a middle aged man nostalgic about old bicycles. There is a growing sense of skepticism and cynicism. I feel tension and angst.
I’m a sucker for nostalgia. The one thing I know about nostalgia is that it is utterly illogical without a physical, contemporaneous history and perfect recollection. This is not how the brain works. It is also not the definition, nor the substance, of nostalgia. There is always a world before, and a world after. The faster things change, the less time we have to get a handle on it. Nostalgia provides a comforting, rose-tinted window into a bygone era. For many, it is as much imagined as it is real.
Bicycles are delightfully simple machines. Step over. Pedal. The first recognisable bicycle had two connected wheels and a handlebar for steering. It was, effectively, a balance bike. Then some clever, inquisitive people attached a platform on each side of the front wheel, took their feet off the ground, and pedalled. It felt like flying before aeronautical engineering allowed humans to sail the skies. Bicycles became faster by using a bigger front wheel, then safer with the invention of the chain drive and gears. Over the past 150 years the ride experience on a bicycle has improved and expanded. Bicyclists seek thrills, race each other, commute, perform tricks, work, exercise, and explore new places on these wonderful machines. The bicycle has evolved and gained complexity.
The problem with increasing complexity is that the construct becomes increasingly difficult to manage without some form of integration. Think about it. Only nerds and nut jobs drive cars cobbled together from scratch - finding a chassis, then sourcing an engine, transmission, wheels, axles, suspension, brakes, seating, lights, trimmings.. Good for them. Now imagine those enthusiasts fitting safety equipment like ABS, traction control, and electric power steering. Then adding hardware for wireless connectivity, cameras, LiDAR, and a GPS navigation system. They scratch their heads, then decide to modify the hardware for internet connectivity. The next logical step is an intelligence system able to crunch the data and output a response. Each improvement is a step up in complexity. Each step requires deeper integration. The car, as a means of transport, is progressing to completion.
While man-made machines continue to improve, machine intelligence is booming. By the time an autonomous car hits target metrics for safety, efficiency, costs, and road usage, the car will be engaging with its occupants in a way that cars today do not. It will not only deal with the “trolley problem” as part of its safety protocols but also strike up a lively conversation about the ethical frameworks of deontology and utilitarianism that lie at the root of this paradox.
I’m ok with that. I’m not averse to driving, but I’m not a car or driving enthusiast.
There are deeper anxieties as we verge the threshold of machine superintelligence. Let’s leave that aside for now.
Having carefully avoided a conversation about “free will”, I will stick to the interface between the individual and the environment, which is where the interesting action happens. The point is this: the driven experience is set to change. Those who choose to drive will always have the opportunity to continue doing so. This is a sliding scale and you might have to take a step back to think clearly about where you are comfortable landing. Sure, some choices are obvious with clear - even default - options. Others are more insidious.
Think about distance travel: walking → driving; driving → train or airplane; train and bus → autonomous car. Now think about distance communication: carrier pigeon → telephone; telephone → video call; messaging service → social media; soapbox → influencers. Or entertainment: movies → videos; videos → video feeds. Or human connection: serendipitous → targeted; real world → virtual world. There are many other examples and much more to say, but this is already an unwieldy, stupidly long post.
Integration. Completeness. Dominance. Power.
Life in the analogue world was often spent wasting time and getting lost.
You can still do that today.
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