My car, a Holden Camira station wagon, was a terrible vehicle. I had paid too much money for it, and spent far too much in repairs to it. In March, it had a terminal breakdown, and I simply could not be bothered getting yet more expensive repairs done to it. It sat outside my unit for about four months before I sold it to a wrecking yard for what I could get, $600.

But be married to one again? Never! The price I got for the dead Camira was abysmal, but I did not worry about having to pay the cost of renewing the registration the following week, or try to get it repaired. I just watched and smiled as it was towed away.

While the car sat dormant, I chose to travel by alternative means. The choices were bus, walking, or taxi, the latter more so after late shifts at work when the buses had stopped running. Bus travel to visit friends or social functions required some planning in a city such as Perth, to co-ordinate connections and judge the correct stops at which to alight.

The feelings of achievement were satisfying. The arrangements helped greatly to reduce my stress levels. Bus travel provided opportunities to contemplate life. Shopping wasn't even a major problem; I carried home a small television on a bus from the shopping centre. If a visit to friends carried well on into the night, or the following morning, I used taxis or the generosity of others for a lift home. More often, I would walk. My main recreational activity, sailing, and shops were within walking distance.

The huge bonus, however, was in cash savings. I was no longer spending on cigarettes and petrol. My financial pressures eased.

Fairly soon, bus travel to and from work became boring because the routes ran to the same timetables and over the same streets. Sometimes the routes were convoluted. I lost interest in people-watching on and off the buses. Occasionally, the scheduled services didn't turn up at all. Walking, despite its physical benefits, had its limitations. The most obvious was the poor distance-over-time equation.

My legs weren't too keen on this walking lark, either. Well before my heart attack, I walked to and from work at the sporting association where I worked. One of the reasons I bought a car was because I suffered shin splints.

I eventually came to one conclusion: I needed a bike!

I figured that a bicycle would give me flexibility in travel, improve distance/time efficiency, give me the exercise I needed, and save me money. My bank balance was never likely to improve dramatically because of various financial commitments. But I could go from subsistence survival to a modicum of comfort in my life. The money from sale of my car on an as-is-where-is basis meant I could buy an entry-level bike. I looked at a bicycle as something that I could play with, learn about, and not cause too much damage along the way.

I had bought a mountain bike in Hobart in the late 1980s. But I sold it after moving to Far North Queensland. I did use it occasionally, but I was a heavy smoker, and I did not perceive much physical benefit from it. My partner at the time was not up to cycling any sort of distance. Then she had the nerve to poke fun at how I pedalled. Despite her ill-informed attempts and my smoking handicap, I did enjoy riding the bike.

Perth, of course, is well serviced by sealed bikeways, especially around the Swan River. My primary objective was to commute to and from work. I concluded that I should acquire a bike capable of handling sealed and unsealed surfaces.

I browsed various specialist bike shops and found an array of technology I did not know existed. I was mesmerised by mountain bikes with front and rear suspension, incredibly robust frames, and new-style handlebars that I thought were the preserve of triathletes and Olympic riders. The price tags were scary. Some were way up in the $3,000 range, and I saw some priced over $8,000!

My heart sank. I did not have the cash to pay thousands for a bicycle. In reality, I did not have to. I also was not prepared to take on a second-hand bike, fearing the black market in stolen bikes would have me looking over my shoulder all the time.

I remained patient, but on Saturday 19 July 1997, it all go the better of me. I caught a bus headed for the nearest Kmart so I could see what the store had to offer. But I read the route number incorrectly, and got off the bus well before Kmart. I walked around a corner, however, and there was a fully fledged bike shop in front of me, tucked away next to a tyre retailer.

Spread out on the forecourt was a line of bikes of most sorts, including a tricycle. They gleamed in the sun. I took about two minutes to find the bike for me with a suitable price tag (yes, you read correctly, two minutes). It was instant retail therapy at its rampaging best. I didn't check the pedigree of the bike, but it was a nice blue colour with black flecks. I had a brief test ride up and down the lane next door, but not having ridden a bike for around eight years, anything would have felt right. The price was $245.

"Orion City Rider" was emblazoned on the downtube. It had a mountain bike style about it, with flat handlebars and no mudguards. The tyres, though, were more suited to the road. It was a cross-bike or hybrid. I noted it was made in Taiwan, but designed in Australia by the Bicycle Corporation. Impressive. It had a Shimano SIS system with three gears on the front, and seven on the back. Equally impressive!

I bought a basic but stylish Head Gear helmet, bike lock and front and rear lighting, and the final price I paid the bike shop was $345. After a quick change in seat height and a few words of advice from the woman who sold me the bike, I rode off feeling pleased with myself.

My rusty confidence and skills meant I took the easy route home along the Canning Highway footpath, an action that I found out several weeks later to be illegal except on sections designated as dual-use paths. Oh well, at least I didn't get booked and after the heart attack, it was was the least of my life's concerns.

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