For some years one has been a two-bike family, with two intimate rider/machine relationships co-existing happily.
My doughty 23-year-old Dawes Galaxy had a fair amount of exposure throughout this year's Summer Cycling Saga.
Time, I guess, for a nod towards my fab stay-at-home steed: a stalwart Pashley, British to its core, on which I ride to work, potter around town, run errands, and never, ever break sweat.
The sensible chain guard ensures office clothes remain grime-free - and the sit-up-and-beg riding position provides excellent vision and visibility.
Gears? Sturmey Archer three-speed. What else?
The capacious basket (supplemented by trap-grip rear bracket) provides ample stowage for the post-shopping journey home.
And while on the subject of the basket...
In town with the Pash some years ago, I ran in to an acquaintance. As our brief conversation ended she commented on the bike - with gratifying admiration. And then she moved on to, er, admiring me.
'You must be very confident in your masculinity - riding a bicycle with that big basket on the front.'
I was at a loss for an appropriate response - until about twenty minutes later, by which time I was at home, when I remembered the name under which said baskets are marketed. The moniker harks back to the days when our towns where a-whizz with cycling delivery boys.
So my reply should have been: 'Oh really? Well, that must be why it's called a butcher basket...'