A quick twist of the throttle and I heard the reassuring hum of the motor – felt the pull of the front wheel as it dragged me upwards.

God, cycling is fun, I thought, when you have an electric bicycle.

It’s a world away from my first ever bike – a hand-me-down from my sister!

It was mauve, and had the name “Pam” printed in fancy script along the frame, which I hastily disguised with a dash of white house paint.

But there was no hiding the fact it was a girl’s bike.

I rode it to school once – only once.

My first serious relationship with a two-wheeler came a year or two later when Santa parked a brand-spanking-new Repco dragster beside the Christmas tree.

It was metallic orange, with a three-foot-high sissy bar and T-bar gear shift on the cross-bar – a thing of beauty.

I still dream about it come Christmas.

I bought my first “serious bike” as a 16-year-old – a 10-speed Apollo racer – also bright, metallic orange.

I’ve had it for 35 years, and until the red devil (my electric dream) arrived, I still rode it most days. Its sturdy steel frame will last another 35.

There’ve been other cycling flings along the way – a $99 mountain bike from Cash Converters – a replica 1950s Cruiser I inherited from a generous friend and have since passed on to another.

But it’s hard to resist the lure of the open road with 700 watts of power to assist my dodgy joints and back.

The cycling purists aren’t quite as convinced. I’ve been met with everything from subtle face-pulling and derisive laughter, to outright scorn. 

One fellow in full lycra, riding a piece of featherweight carbon fibre that probably set him back about 10 grand, suggested I “get a real bike”.

I simply smiled. It’s hard to do anything but when I’m pedalling the electric dream. Neither hill nor head wind nor heavy load can faze me.

It’s forced me to be more social, too. No matter where you go on an electric bike, people want to talk about it – give the tyres a kick, ask about top speeds and battery life.

I met a lovely Austrian cyclist outside the supermarket at the weekend as I was loading up my pannier bags with groceries.

He was basking in the glow of his own brand new electric wünder bike.

He said that in Europe, electric bikes are outselling regular bikes almost two to one. Mostly people in their 60s and 70s realising they could eke another decade or two of the wind in their hair.

“We’re not getting any younger, and the mountains aren’t getting any smaller,” he said with a wicked smile.

A cycling metaphor for life.