One might wager both have been ridden by someone with a one-track mind. But you'd be wrong.
The answer is they both had a 24-carat gold finish.
As we all know, Jill Masterton was a fictional character in Ian Fleming's James Bond novel Goldfinger. One who met her demise after being 'suffocated' under a veneer of gold body paint. The other is the first production item to roll out of Scandinavian design company AURUMANIA - a Copenhagen-based venture whose 'pre-occupation with gold', entitles them to a manifesto which reads thus:
'In a world where product design often results in the insipidly ordinary, AURUMANIA demands the return of the wildly extravagant. With a licence to luxuriate in the unbridled pleasure of unusual objects with a sublime 24-carat gold finish'.
So what of the Aurumania Gold Bike? Well, each one is hand-built. Then plated with 24-carat gold. The handlebar grips are made of hand-sewn, chocolate-brown leather, with a moulded Brooks leather saddle providing an appropriate level of sumptuous seating. If you want one, you'll need €21,000 spare. Which converts to roughly £19,000. Naturally, with such a purchase, one instantly enters membership of the nonpareil elite. Yet Aurumania attempt to diffuse such carpe diem - 'Most AURUMANIA products will be familiar, practical objects within their respective categories - objects you can normally use for their normal purpose, if you want to'.
But, having splashed out £19,000 on a track bike, you wouldn't want to, would you? And then think how impotent young Marcus might feel, when he gets wind that his best chum Tobias has also purchased some wheels from Aurumania. But not the standard Gold version, no, he's upgraded to the Gold Bike Crystal Edition. This, much like Marcus's, is lavishly veneered in 24-carat gold, but comes in a numbered, limited-edition of only ten, each encrusted with more than 600 fine Swarovski crystals. And the price for such autocratic elitism? A mere €80,000. Naturally, one would not wish to stash such an item away in the family vault. To wit Aurumania can offer a (you've guessed it) 24-carat gold-plated wall-mounting bike rack. A snip at €5,000.
Yet, despite their transparent pre-occupation with largess, Aurumania do offer the more bank-balance-friendly CPH Street - 1079 Limited Edition - a black bike, one almost discreetly highlighted with its iridescent 24-carat gold-plated spokes. Such an item borders on an affordable €2,000. And, judging by the promotional imagery, is primarily aimed at the more hirsute Henry (he of the tiny top-tube).
In such unstable financial times, we were surprised to learn that one London resident has indeed already put his name to one of the ten Crystal Edition track bikes. Perhaps the owner could invest in an acre or two of Brazilian rain forest, and then log-it, in pursuit of his own custom-built velodrome. Such behaviour would be appropriate to a fully signed-up Aurumaniac - 'the people to talk to if you're interested in amazing, extravagant products whose prime feature is oodles of 24-carat gold'.
So is the Aurumania Gold Bike a worthy investment? Or just fool's gold? There is something of the trophy, almost velo-vicarious about such a thing; akin to flaunting the mounted safari kill that you never shot. Or buying yourself a knighthood. And such flagrant objectifying of the bicycle as 'elevated artifact' must disturb the purests - those who align with the Eddy Merckx maxim "Ride, lots". Perhaps, then, once could suggest that having a wall-mounted, 24-carat gold single-speed track bike hanging above your chaise longue provides a fitting metaphor for our times - glitz, without grind; form without function; swagger without sweat. The Aurumania bike is simply 24-carat, 21st century velo-vulgarity.
And the moral of the tale? At least Jill Masterton got to go once round the track.
