straylian of the year

Elsewhere, they are celebrating our nation’s wealthy/givey and yachty. This is nice. I feel like both of these people seem relatively friendly and although I am not stirred in my cockles or my sub-cockles even, I appreciate that this is the nature of celebrating a nation and I should be grateful they we didn’t win the ashes or something. The young one even likes pink. It’s good to see something different. But I’m not really moved, although my ambivalence could be the natural after effect of my morning ride. I just feel a nice kind of tired and hot, which is not prone to profound recognition of nationalism and pride.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I have, in fact, as I poddled around New Farm and Tenerife this morning in search of a non-potholed bike lane, been thinking of my Australian of the Year.

And considered perhaps it could be any number of fine cyclists who have done rather well for themselves in this past twelve months. I mean, Cameron Meyer, he seems to have done alright. And Michael Matthews, he’s a glittery good thing, and Anna Meares, yes, she seems rather athletic too. Why not? Any of them seems relatively deserving of being recognised as something local what is good and popular and available for liking. Though, in the main, I prefer Richie Porte. But this is predominantly because I like pink.

But really, these are professional cyclists who have proper lives and are not waiting for the accolades of acolytes such as me. So I do not feel it would be of any benefit for me to applaud them and tell them that they are wonderful. Though in the main they are worthy of applause and being told they are quite positively rad. I shall leave this to others. Presumably their sponsors.

Equally, though, I feel that there are also a number of humble riders who would be worthy of recognition mainly because they are quite simply adorable. Take this family for instance. All of them. In their cute little skate lids. The mum and the dad (I presume, or else just the friendly accompanying adults) in their sweet, cushy rides, and GOSH DURN IT that is the best matching of Yellow on Yellow on Yellow I have seen in a while. And the two kids, just chilled as chilled can be, singing out “to the left” to their (nominated) Dad in a lovely, considerate share the path kind of way as I passed. I love it. See how everyone has a colour coordinated helmet to go with their ride. Social Rider Gold. I take back everything I said about unattractive Brisbane riders.

For my mind, however, there is only one Nik C.

There are others I miss of late in the world of cycling. Many good and golden individuals for whom I would be prepared to make nationalistic generalisations and accompany them with a sensation of pride. All of the Sugar Spokes. Some sweeties in particular.

But they are not Nik C.

And there are individuals with whom I have ridden that will forever occupy kind road space in my heart. No questions.

But they are not Nik C.

There are fun and flamboyant figures who give the world the texture and colour which it so richly deserves.

But they are not Nik C.

For there is only one Nik C.

Nik C is not my best friend. He does not belong to me and in fact, you too can probably ride with Nik C, or your own version of Nik C. It is not that he does things, or organises stuff, or is involved in the “community” that makes Nik C so very special. Although these things are good and righteous and may we all do things, organise stuff and get involved in the name of being special. He does not train the hardest, or ride the fastest, although he does have pretty near the skinniest legs. It’s not that he is nice, but not so nice it’s going to rot your teeth, or that this is just some sucky friendly people rock thing that I have going on (friendly people do rock though). It’s not even that he has a great helmet. Though he does have a nice lid.

The reason that I rate Nik C as my AUSTRALIAN OF THE YEAR is that he is totally great to ride with.

By totally great I mean that Nik C rocks the incomparable ability to ride his own ride and to help you ride yours. He doesn’t have to wait for you at every light, but he knows that it’s nicest to share the roll. He’s no timid fairy when it comes to street riding, but he doesn’t need to prove it at every red light. He’s fitter than you, but no need to feel like you’re getting smashed by your companion. He’s got good things to say, but he can just as easily enjoy the quiet of a morning ride. He won’t judge you by your bike, nor did he buy his to make you feel like a fool. He is up for a ride. And if you are up for a ride, then that is a good place to be. Selective enough to feel you’re in fine company, open minded enough to know that you are.

He will encourage you, because he knows that – secretly – you are just as happy to be riding as he is. All other good things can be worked out from the simple equation.

Riding + Nik C = Sweet

And the older I get, the more riders I meet, the more I realise that not everyone is a Nik C. And if I’ve one cycling goal this year it is to be more like him: to ride with joy; to test my own limits for the sheer pleasure; and to try just about anything new as long as it involves a bike*.

That’s him on the left. Should you see him on the road today, please purchase him a vegan brownie. And say, “top work mate”, or something equally patriotic.

And then go be your own Nik C.

* there are some things I won’t try (grown ups only advisory warning please, in case you are the nice family reading this).