The Chameleon

Never apologise... never drive... never fly unless you have wings.... never clean your bike!

The bike blends in when it is left to its own devices. The bike like the body cleans itself as it goes. Ok, so I may need to turn it over at the station before the train arrives to give it a quick exfoliation but it runs like a dream caked as it is in dry mud. And it looks the part. Ain't nothing so disappointing than seeing a clean bike. It's like going into the jungle and seeing tribal people wearing perfume and designer gear. It just isn't natural. 

Being a chameleon is hard work. On the ground, in the field, in situ...

The only cleaning the chameleon does is when he moves and cleanses his insides, or a few 'licks' here and there. The moving is thus the real detergent, and the land the chameleon moves across the real 'make-up' that the animal 'puts on'. Interestingly, the word chameleon derives from Greek khamaileon, from khamai 'on the ground, creeping', akin to chthon 'earth' + leon 'lion' (the large head-crest on some species was thought to resemble a lion's mane). Furthermore, the chameleon, or Earth-lion if you prefer, (like the bicycle if not the cyclist too) was supposed to live on air ('Excellent, i’ faith; of the chameleon’s dish: I eat the air, promise-crammed'. (Hamlet, III.ii.84–86). 

And so it is that my bike is a chameleon.