charge

The Charge Filter. Sounds like a powerful cigarette, but it’s a bike the distributor is about to discontinue in this country, due to its popularity, or its misnomer. It’s not a bike to charge about on.

Charge are an English company that specialise in steel frames and single speeds. A few years ago I test ride the Charge Plug and love it. But a single speed with cow-horn bars won’t get me to work in Collingwood and back on rough bike trails.

I think about my ride to work a lot and determine that a robust steel frame is the thing, and drop bars with plenty of places to park my hands during the journey. I need a tough chain and proper mudguards because I’m going to ride whatever the weather.

  

Ten days back I nip into Cycleworks and do a quick lap of the floor. One bike jumps out, although it’s hiding among Mick’s Charge range, the only bike in the pack with dropped bars. I haul it out, look it over, lift it up. No lightweight. But it’s everything else I dreamed up as the ideal trail commuter.

The steel posts and stays, muddies from arsehole to breakfast, a chain you’d see on a hog, tyres not about to disappear into narrow cracks. The componentry keeps to itself—Sugino cranks, unmarked Shimano derailleur, three by eight gearing. Large frame—I’m a medium—but in the same deep burgundy as the Red Rocket.

Today I return as darkness falls. It’s still there. I lift it; it seems lighter this time. Nick puts some pedals on it and I circle the forecourt twice. That’s all I need to feel it, to know. Mick comes out of the back office. We shake, old friends, travel companions in France when plans fuck up big-time.

“Smith Street Cycles told me at lunchtime that the importer is quitting the Filter. You might have the last one left on the continent,” I tell him. “How come you’ve got this oddity in the shop?”

“Everyone wants carbon, super light. I just like this bike for what it is. It’ll ride quick enough.”

You might think he would say that, but not Mick. Mick doesn’t sell bikes; he waits for you to buy them. I take him over to the racks and panniers, waste ten minutes there.

“Give me a price, Mick.” He takes $250 off the number on the docket. “OK, let’s commit.” I buy a rack and top-bag that clips onto the tray. Oiled canvas. The credit card does what it can but can’t hide the fact that the next statement will be exceed my paying capacity.

Mick thinks he remembers my measurements. The Filter will be set up by Friday, early. That’s local service for you. It’s first ride will be to Collingwood the same morning.

My good woman rings not long after I get home. I tell her I bought the bike. “Did you give it a name yet?” Negative. “It will be the Red Star.” After Red Star Belgrade. She has no interest in football.

“The Red Star it is.”  

Rock on.