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20180914 TerraHertz http://everist.org NobLog home
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This bicycle was a street toss. It was thrown out just up the road from my mum's place. A girl's bike; apparently very little used judging by the low wear on tires and pedals. When new it must have been quite nice. Now it's a sad sight.
Obviously it's been left outside in the weather for a long time, under a tree. Covered in cobwebs and the webs had accumulated large amounts of dead leaves. Rust set in. Eventually someone accepted the inevitable and placed out on the kerb for anyone to take. The major questions when considering whether I wanted it, was where to hold it without risk of getting spider bitten, and would I be letting some redbacks and/or funnelwebs loose in my car.
The seat cover is totally decayed from sun exposure, and all the chrome parts are seriously rusty. Tires completely flat. Was it worth the trouble?
But the gear controls and actuators are good quality Shimano that seem still functional, though could do with cleaning and some oil. Plenty of rust, but as we'll see, I consider that a positive feature. The wheels are good, alloy rims and stainless spokes though the hubs are rusty. Tire rubber is not perished. Front wheel has a quick release lever. The frame, handlebars, posts, etc are steel, and hence of no interest to me. It was not a particularly expensive bike. Mid-range.
I brought it home, stuck it in my new storage area. It sat there for about two weeks till I got around to stripping it on 20180905.
I hadn't expected this to affect me. Yet working on it down brought me close to tears, by reminding me of things. I bet her parents were sad to see their present treated so unwanted and carelessly. Parallels... Then by contrast it reminds me of my several bikes that I treasured and used so much, and what happened to them. And why I'm bothering to disassemble derelict bicycles.
My first bike... sigh. My parents were very poor. I never had a bike until quite late in my teens, when other kids my age were looking forward to getting cars. I bore this silently, knowing my parents tried, and my dad was doing great work in nature conservation, so our poverty was for a highly worthy cause.
One Christmas there were few and small presents under the tree for me. I opened one, and it was a bicycle pump. Unfortunately I made a wrong assumption. I thought it was meant as 'eventually you'll get a bike' or some kind of consolation like that. But this was too much to bear. I burst into tears. Sobbing, trying to say that I knew we were poor, and I didn't complain, but this was just cruel. Why did they do this?
It turned out, there was a new bicycle in a back room (we were living at my grandparent's house at the time, because poor...) But by the time they showed me this, I was already too upset to be cheered up instantly. I was OK after a while, and very grateful for the bike, but that really spoiled Christmas. They thought doing the surprise that way was a cute idea, but I suppose they didn't know how sad I was inside about us being poor, and that I'd resigned myself to never having a bicycle in my teens.
I used that bike for many years, a lot. I seem to recall the frame was gold coloured, but I can't recall what happened to it in the end. I remember it had metal serrated-edge pedals, because I cut my foot open pretty badly on one of them while doing a 'death ride' somebody had made in the local abandoned brick pits. Many teen adventures, and I treasured that bike very much.
The next bike I had I recall I used in my early 20's, when I was living in Glebe and working up near the Sydney harbor bridge, in Sussex St and then later in Clarence St at Computerland. I rode it to work and back. One time got knocked off by a car turning left into a side street right across my path, but no injury.
That bicycle was stolen. One evening I'd ridden it just a short distance from home, to a restaurant in Glebe Pt Road for dinner. Parked it leaning against the front window, then sat at a table just inside the window, right next to my bike. Was eating, looked down at my plate, looked up, bike was gone. Ran outside, no sight of it. Someone jumped on and rode away, around a nearby corner. This might have been my first bike from my teens, I can't recall. It was naive of me to leave it anywhere in Glebe, not securely chained to something.
In that period I wasn't doing anything in the way of bicycle adventure trips, and was young and didn't have the concept of treasured memories. So didn't value the bicycle so much. But it was a serious practical loss as I wasn't earning much more than enough to pay rent and food. Could not drive to work since there was nowhere to park. It was very upsetting to have it stolen.
My first motor vehicle had been a very old 90cc motorbike that I used to get to University. I can't recall how I was able to buy the motorbike, but it served a desperate need as I'd found commuting by train and bus between Oatley and the University of NSW in Kensington (via Central) was just not workable. Even the much more direct route on a bike was a serious drain.
The second was an old car I'd bought with money from my first full time job, shortly before moving out of home when I was 21. Ah, that short interval of a real income, but not yet exposed to real living expenses... The first time in my life I had significant spare cash.
My priorities were: first buy an oscilloscope, then a car. The scope cost a lot more than the car, and was a great investment. I still have it and it still works though it's not as good as other scopes I have now. It cost a little more over the years but nothing compared to the income it brought me.
You cannot learn or practice electronics without an oscilloscope. It would be like a blind person trying to capture a landscape on canvas. Human senses lack 'voltage perception', and are also vastly too slow to follow functioning of most circuits. The oscilloscope is an essential extension of the senses if one wishes to do anything with electronics. And there's no downside to owning an oscilloscope.
Getting around on the other hand... bicycles, motorbikes, trains and cars, are just improvements over legs. Helpfull, but owning a vehicle has many downsides. Running expenses, extortionate government fees and fines, risks to life, insurance or accident costs, maintenance, and rust.
The motor bike had developed serious frame rust under the seat. I'd welded that up and repainted it, but since I now had a car the motorbike was left sitting at my parent's house, only partly under cover.
Spot the bike.
Some vines grew over it, and the rust returned. This is a scan of an old Polaroid photo, and the scattered 'brown smudges' were me experimenting with that effect of Polaroid photos, where if you press on the film while it is still developing, it leaves a coloured mark. They aren't real.
Rather than fix the rust again and pay registration I gave it to a neighbor to use on his hobby farm.
I liked to think of the old motorbike 'roaming free in the paddocks' in its final years. I'd come very close to dying on it twice, both times while commuting daily from home in Oatley to university in Kensington. Once I was stupidly zipping along between two lanes of traffic that was going a bit below the speed limit on a freeway. Some guy one car ahead either thought he'd spoil my day, or just needed to open his car door for some reason. I had to slam on the brakes to avoid running into the open door. Skidding at around 60Km/hr, in a narrow gap between fast moving cars. I managed to not drop the bike. It was a good lesson; I never did that again.
The other time was a different kind of lesson — that totally unpredictable shit happens, and can kill you. Again in traffic, and there'd been recent light rain. I was in the center of three lanes of heavy bunched up traffic, all going fairly fast around a wide curve at a major intersection. So there wasn't much road ahead between me and the vehicle in front. A worn smooth (and wet) steel manhole cover appeared from under that one, with far too little time for me to respond. I went over it fast and leaning. Of course both wheels totally lost traction on the smooth wet iron, so the bike did a major wobble. If I'd dropped it I'd have slid under the fast moving vehicles in the outer lane. I managed to not drop it, just.
My first car was a second hand Mazda R100 coupe, but the rotary engine had been replaced with a standard 4-cylinder 1300 engine. Very bady replaced it turned out. I had to do a lot of work to get it reasonable.
Pic is from the web, but mine looked just like that. Same colour even.
I liked that car because it was comfortable to drive, looked neat, was still zippy even without the rotary, but best of all it had a huge petrol tank. I could drive a very long way on a single fill. Did my first long distance car-camping holiday trip in that, solo. Had a great time.
Later I was using it to drive to work. Living in Bronte, driving to Leisure & Allied (arcade game service) in the back streets of Newtown. One lunchtime I went with a co-worker friend to get lunch. Bringing the food back to work, driving slowly in no hurry, we had a dramatic accident. In very narrow backstreets, just one lane in the road with cars parked either side. At a cross intersection, no traffic signs, I'd stopped but could not see down the street to my right at all due to a big box truck parked at the corner. I started edging slowly out. My car's nose was a little into the intersection when a car came from the right at speed — probably around 50Km/hr. Totally negligent of him to go through a tight cross intersection at that speed. It clipped the front of my car, spinning it around on the spot. My passenger hit his head badly on the interior grip handle above his passenger door.
The other car's path was deflected slightly to his right, colliding with a parked car head on. The high speed car was a cheap old Toyota. Big indentation all along the left side where he'd scraped along the front of my car. My car ended up somewhat banana shaped though he'd only touched the bumper bar. A writeoff. His car, I have no idea. Because... the parked car he hit was a Rolls Royce. An old classic one. Belonging to the manager of a club on that corner. The guy driving the Toyota was an Asian doctor, maybe early 30s.
I was in shock, my passenger was pretty stunned from the knock on his head. In those days of course neither of us had cameras with us. When the police arrived the cop who interviewed me just wrote down a 'statement' then read it out to me and asked if I agreed. Basically that I'd 'failed to give way to my right'.
Later I found out how screwed I was. The Rolls guy wanted me to pay for the damage to his car. Many thousands of dollars, utterly beyond my (poor) means. I found a lawyer to represent me, explained the situation.
A few days before the case was to be heard (magistrate, no jury) the lawyer phoned and said he had to go overseas, sorry, couldn't represent me.
I went to the court house by myself, hoping I could explain the circumstances, and that it was clearly not my fault. Ha ha ha. Looking back, I know I was so naive.
Getting into the lift, totally by chance there was 'my lawyer'. Not 'overseas' at all, ha ha. He couldn't look me in the face. I glared at him, saw no point in saying what I thought of him.
In the hearing, the police read my statement, and then presented a photo of the intersection. It showed a stop sign facing the way I'd been coming. WTF? There was no stop sign... but I couldn't prove it. Later I went there, and found yes, a brand shiny new stop sign. Fresh concrete and everything. Had obviously been put in very recently, after the accident. The police didn't mention this timing, but I think they knew and there was money involved, something to do with the Rolls owner being rich and well connected. Was 'my lawyer' bribed to withdraw, too late for me to find another? I expect so. The doctor who drove the toyota was barely questioned. I was again in shock, and didn't know how to defend myself.
The magistrate negotiated an amount I had to pay the Rolls guy. It was carefully calculated to be marginally less than an amount for which I'd have been better to declare myself bankrupt. It took me years to pay it off. I was both furious, and disillusioned. Such a corrupt, complete travesty of justice.
Which was a useful learning experience. It taught me to expect no justice from the courts without a determined and well-prepared fight — if even then. Everything I've experienced since has confirmed that sorry expectation. Another lesson was that no matter how carefully one drives, circumstances may contrive to put you at fault (at least in the eyes of the law), so you can't skip 3rd party property insurance.
Later in my early 30s, I had a nice city motorbike as well as a car. Quite a small bike; a Suzuki GS 125 and very cheap to run.
Pic from the web, but again just like that and it's the right colour.
I really liked riding it. But a while after my wife and I bought the East Hills house, I let the bike registration lapse as I wasn't using it much and money was tight. The plan was to keep it till I could affort to register it again. It was under cover, stored in the large open carport down the back, with a rain cover too.
It had a steering lock and I didn't imagine anyone would bother to steal it so didn't secure it with some heavy chain.
One day I found it gone, nothing there but the ignition-steering lock that had been torn out to make the bike pushable. Some weeks later I heard the young teen of the family that lived over the back fence (from where the parked bike had been visible) chatting with a friend. One of them said something like "It goes really great. Just replaced the lock and that was all." (They didn't know I was in earshot on the other side of the fence.) I didn't think that was enough to be productive reporting it to the police.
Next bicycle I used quite a lot, for many years. It had a dark blue/black frame, and I'd put "Solar not Nuclear" stickers on the top bar. The gear change system was a bit unreliable, and I ended up making a custom mount for the levers on the central handlebar post. It still didn't work so well.
Worse, it had thin tires, which were hopeless on dirt and sand. I wanted to do more rough track riding, but could not because of that. Also the front wheel wasn't quick-release, which made it awkward to put in my car. The handlebars were curved down racing type, which are unsuitable to rough trail riding. Could easily have changed them, but with all the other issues it wasn't worthwhile.
So I bought another, better bike. This one I put a LOT of work into optimizing. Everywhere I could replace steel with light alloy, I did. The handlebars and post, seat post, pedal arms, etc all lightened. The wheel rims were alloy. I found excellent soft and easy to hold hand grips for the bars. Comfortable seat. After a few bush rides where I got tire punctures from thorns, I replaced the inner tubes with 'thorn proof' extra thick rubber inner tubes, plus added tough nylon thorn shields inside the tires. Never had another puncture. The frame was a uniform blue colour, that I liked.
This blue bike was my all time favorite. I did many, many great adventure rides with friends and alone on this. Also I had it during my new love in 2003 and afterwards, so there are memories attached from that relationship too.
Unfortunately I very rarely happened to include the bike in photos. Here are a rare few.
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The pic at right dated 20100602 is from the last trip I think I took with that bicycle. I can find nothing later.
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Ironically, one bike I do have several clear photos of, was neither mine nor very practical. My friend XL had met a guy who was developing a recumbent bike inspired by easy rider motorbikes. He invited us to try it out in Centenial Park on 20081130. It looked cool, but was extremely difficult to ride since the steering was poor, very hard to get moving without falling over, and the reclining position felt awkward. A pain in the neck if continued for long. I don't know how that project went for him, but it was a fun outing.
My favorite blue bike I kept inside the house, in my study. There were other bikes there too — my son's very new and shiny bike, and my daughter's. Actually I'd have prefered they all be kept in the unused side branch of the entrance hall, but my ex-wife vehemently refused, and would wheel them back into my study any time I left them in the hall. Purely a passive-aggressive thing on her part, they were not in the way in the hall at all, and in my study they made the room seriously awkward.
But I put up with that. When I wanted to take my bike on a trip somewhere I'd wheel it out to the front, remove the quick-release front wheel, and load it in the back of the Subaru. I also used it often for short local rides, to shops or nearby bush areas. A very enjoyable form of exercise.
My study's sole door is normally left closed. It's my private place in the house and there are a lot of my life's mementos in there. I don't tend to go in very often, since most of my time is spent down in my workshop. Mostly when I do go in it's just briefly to fetch or return something. The room is really just a storage space, since my ex-wife is usually in the room above, with the TV turned up loud. Too noisy for me to concentate on any kind of work. And by the way, we're careful about keeping the house doors locked, even when someone is home. There's also an alarm with motion detectors everywhere, so no chance of silent burglary while we're out.
One day I went into my study to get the bike. Wait, where is it?
It was gone. Nothing else was missing in my study, or anywhere in the house. No one knows anything.
This was sometime in late 2011 I think. I didn't make any notes I can find, of when exactly. At the time there were many other very grim things happening and I was pretty close to the edge. I did make a report to the Revesby police station that my bike had been stolen. But I can't find a note of when.
However I do recall other events that had happened here shortly before I noticed the bike missing.
Some background: Our daughter E. was quite seriously disturbed, due to growing up with a mum who'd developed severe PTSD as a result of living through the Pol Pot killing fields in Cambodia. Mum effectively tortured E. psychologically and sometimes physically abused her too, for many years, all through her childhood. I tried to help E., but also had to live with the same emotionally unbearable behavior from my wife (and the 'woman is always right' official bias), not to mention working full time to pay off mutiple mortgages, so was sadly ineffectual. E. ended up hating both of us.
At one point she stole about $8,000 worth of gold from my wife's bedroom, and presumably sold it. She'd left some while taking the rest, which told me it had to have been E. No thief would have left some. When asked about the 'things' missing from the room, E. at first tried to deny any knowledge. But she slipped up, mentioning it was gold. I had not told her that. Only then with no alternative did she admit it. (Ref recording of this conversation, 20100907.)
Before my bike theft was discovered, E. had long become a 'shut in' — spending virtually all her time in her room. She'd had some friends, but hadn't seen any of them for months, maybe a year. A short while before I found my bike missing, an old friend of E.'s had phoned me, asking what had happened to E., and asking if she could come round to see E.
I said sure, please do. She and another showed up and came to talk with me before seeing E. I related how E. never went out these days, I rarely saw her out of her room, she and her mum still had fights, E. won't talk with me so I have no idea what's going on with her. I asked her to please let me know how the conversation with E. went, and if there was anything I could do. She agreed, seemingly sincerely.
After they left late in the afternoon, I didn't see or hear from any of those friends of E.'s ever again. I had the impression E. had gone out with them when they left, and I knew they were living over the river on old Prof Trainer's property. I assumed E. had walked over there with them, via the footbridge.
In the next few weeks, for a long time really, E. was noticeably even more cold and stand-offish with me. I had no idea why.
The interval between that visit and my noticing my bike missing, is vague since I didn't immediately connect the two, made no notes at the time of either, and was having many other greater sorrows. I think it was between one and three weeks. It's quite possible I could have gone into my study multiple times and never notice the bike was gone, because 'tangle of bikes', being focussed on other things, and simply not looking for it.
After noticing the theft it only slowly dawned on me, that E. (or her friends) could be suspect. But:
Then one day we were in the car, I can't recall if anyone else present. I'd mentioned the bike again. E. said in a strident, exasperated tone "But you never used it!" With her obvious thought being as a justification for whoever took it, ie taking their side.
I replied that yes I did, quite often but how would she ever know that since she spent all her time in her room upstairs with the door closed. She didn't reply. As soon as she'd said that, I'd become absolutely certain it was her (with or without assistance or knowledge of her friends that day.)
Another time, in mid 2018, I'd been fed up with her and outright accused her. She tearfully denied it. But it was very prominent that she certainly wasn't surprised by being accused of that. The concept was nothing new to her, though I'd never previously given any hint of suspecting her.
Anyway, since I have an instance (recorded) of her trying to lie her way out of something much more serious, and she's lied at other times since, I flatly don't believe her denial.
I think she took my bike to 'show off' to her friends that day. Perhaps they mentioned I'd expressed concern, and she was reacting oppositionally to that? She has a history since high school of playing the disruptive clown to no-good friends — ending up in her expulsion from two different high schools and never getting her HSC. I think she overdid it that day, and shocked them so much they have never spoken to her again. Something like throwing her dad's bicycle in a muddy, deep, salt water river from a footbridge, might achieve that effect.
Some time after realising my beloved bicycle had gone, I recalled that my previous bike, though not very good, should still be in storage in my partly completed 'forge shed'. Actually only remembered it when I noticed it in a photo of that shed's early construction days.
This photo from 20070605 is the one and only image I can find of that black bicycle, though I owned it for longer than any other one I think. A period mostly before I owned a digital camera.
The image here is greatly cropped, with the bicycle only being in the original incidentally. I was taking a photo of something else.
I searched through the shed; that bike was gone. I definitely had not disposed of it, but the shed was open due to being unfinished. So that one was stolen as well, but the time frame extended years back. Whether some random off the street wandered in and stole it, or E. had taken it (possibly even on the same day as the other), I've no way of knowing. But there is the common factor of nothing else being stolen.
Sigh.
The timing of losing the blue bike in late 2011 was unfortunate. In March 2012 I took a trip down to Ballarat, then Melbourne and on the way back a stay in the Kosciuszko national park. I knew I'd need a bicycle in Melbourne and particularly in the KNP. But my bike had recently gone missing, the trip had come up with short notice and I didn't have time in Sydney to buy another bike.
I decided I should be able to buy one in Melbourne. The itinerary allowed one day for that.
Except I didn't know that in Melbourne that particular day is a public holiday. I found out after I arrived. The day was spent frantically searching for any bicycle shop that was still open (none) then trying a public co-op that I'd been told refurbished and resold old bikes. The crucial people were not there that day. I'd run out of ideas. I was in Melbourne with an Urbex friend, for a yearly Urbex event. I decided to do a little exploring in the remainder of the day. Totally by chance I happened to walk by a council recycling depot. Through the fence in one place I could see a pile of bicycles, some looking not-wrecked. But the place appeared to be closed. Again totally by chance as I drove around the other side of the site, heading back to the motel, a worker was opening the main gate and driving out. I stopped around the corner, ran back and managed to catch him just before he drove off. He said he was closing up, last one there, but sure, he knew of those bikes and would show me in. We went and looked. I picked out two that seemed functional, and was prepared to haggle. He said no worries, just take both. Free.
Back at our rooms I evaluated the bikes.
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Both just needed a clean, oiling, and a few adjustments. I had my car tool kit along, so no problems. By this time we'd had the Urbex get together with some other Melbournites. I'd been chatting with a nice girl, who turned out to sometimes like refurbishing bikes and giving them away or selling them. I only needed one of these bikes, so offered her the other (pink, pic 1) one. She was busy then and we had to leave, so I left it leaning against a tree with a tag for her. (pic 4) Not sure if she ever picked it up. If not, well... someone else probably 'stole' it eventually.
Bicycle at left in Pic 2 is the one I kept. It works all right, well enough for a little underground cycling. There was a comical moment due to the front wheel not being quick-release. Our exit from this drain was via a manhole in a popular running track. With both wheels attached, it could not fit out through the opening. Much bemusement of runners as we struggled with it. Eventually we got the axle nuts off and the bike out. Pic 5 is it on my roofracks at the Playgrounds campsite near Mt Cobberas, KNP.
We did the Cobberas walk one day, then the next day an easier walk up to Ramshead Range, to leave the last of my father's ashes in the place he loved most. He once referred to the glades on this range as the Elysian Fields. Rest in peace dad.
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The large pic above is an outcrop of frost-fractured granite near where dad's ashes lie. Around about here: -36.8938887,148.1401815.
The others, top down: 1. View from the summit of Mt Cobberas. 2. Walking up to Ramshead Range. 3. A clearing on the flank of Ramshead. 4. Looking back towards Cobberas, and the Playgrounds campsite valley. 5. The creek in the valley.
I still have that 'recycled' bike, and it is usable. But certainly not fun to ride. Apart from being too small, it has front shocks. These make it nearly impossible to jump the front wheel up over obstacles like street gutters and small logs, since jerking the handlebar upwards doesn't achieve lift of the wheel. The effort is negated by the shocks expanding, keeping the wheel on the ground. A similar effect to other sorrows in my life in the period since 2003, that I am unable to jump my wheels over.
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Here's another bicycle with sad associated memories. It belonged to my friend David Spicer, who'd owned and used it often for many years. However his health was declining. He resigned from Stargames (retired on disability), gave up his inner city flat, and moved up to Manly to live with his girlfriend.
Since he no longer had a use for this bicycle he gave it to me. I forget what year, perhaps around 2008?
It had a problem. The gear change controls had both gone faulty. I disassembled them, and found that a close-fitting sleeve that was supposed to provide a little friction, had become quite tight, preventing a latch from releasing. I couldn't see any way to fix it, so just left as is. The bike was sort of rideable, so long as you didn't try to change gear.
It's also a remarkably heavy bike, so I didn't consider fixing it up as a bush bike for myself.
In 2011 my son moved to a flat (pic 3) near the University of NSW, where he was studying. He needed a bike to ride the short distance to uni, so I lent him David's old bike. When he later moved out, I waited for him to bring that bike back. It didn't show up, I asked him about it, he said he'd left it there, outside.
Sigh. I went there, it was still there. I guess no one wanted it enough to cut the very light bike lock. I brought it back.
David died in 2017. The last of my old friends from the early years of my life, and the only close friend who also worked in and enjoyed electronics and software.
Of course I'm not the only one to have bicycles stolen. In 2003 when I was going out with a girl (XL) I was deeply in love with, she'd been given a very expensive, fine bicycle by her mother. It was a super light, diamondback racing bicycle. I thought it a bit unwise to spend over a thousand on a bike for everyday city riding, but she loved it.
One day we'd arranged to meet in the inner city. Ended up staying out all night. Early next morning she suddenly got a shocked look on her face. "Where's my bike?!"
She'd forgotten that before we met yesterday she left it locked up out the front of the NSW Institute of Tech, on Broadway. She had a very good bike lock, but to leave an expensive bike like that in a public place over night...
We drove back as fast as possible. Her bike was gone, only the kryptonite bike lock bits on the ground.
Someone had chomped the lock with very powerful boltcutters. She never got it back of course. At least she didn't blame me, though ultimately it was because of me. But she hadn't told me she'd left her bike there. If she had I've have made sure it didn't get left out overnight. She just forgot. It broke my heart to see her so upset.
I hate bicycle thieves so much. Subhuman scum, just plain incapable of civilized thought.
There's a genre of youtube videos of people who set up boobytraps for bicycle thieves. Radio controlled tasers built into bike seats, or bikes with long, strong steel cables attaching them to some anchor so when a thief hops on and rides away they soon get a very sudden halt, sending them over the handlebars to faceplant on concrete.
Such well-deserved jokes are extremely funny and satisfying to watch. But I think I should avoid playing such games as I'd be tempted to make the punch lines more lethal. I wonder if Mr Darwin ever rode a bicycle?
Anyway, after so much bike-related sorrow I can't bear the thought of buying another bicycle, only to have it (and accumulated sentimental associations) probably stolen by mental troglodytes. Not to mention that now in retirement I'm poor again.
But I do need a bicycle.
And so I've been picking up street tossed bicycle ruins, accumulating parts. The aim is to put together some kind of tough, capable and reliable bicycle again, but to deliberately make it look as unappealing as possible. Rusty metal, scrappy paint, scratched and ugly. But still light and rugged frame, thorn proof tires, comfortable and so on. Ideally, spending absolutely nothing.
The trouble with this plan is incompatibilities. There are so many different wheel sizes, custom mounting points on frames for gear shifts, and so on. What with all that, other projects, health problems of my own, and being generally greatly disheartened, it's taking a long while. Years.
But when I do cobble one together, maybe I'll indulge myself with just a little in the way of non-lethal anti-theft surprises. The next person who steals a bike of mine is going to greatly regret it.