A Bushman’s New Bicycle

This humorous poem by Paterson depicts a memorable encounter between the quintessential Aussie bushman and new technology. Through Mulga Bill’s misadventure with a bicycle, Paterson affectionately satirizes the culture clash between rural traditions and modern inventions.

Paterson’s humorous tale of a quintessential bushman utterly failing to master the foreign contraption of a bicycle resonated with Australians and their relationship with modernity.

We are introduced to Bill’s swaggering confidence in his mastery of all things “clothed in hair or hide.” His pride leaves him arrogant and defiant when warned about riding something as foreign to him as a bike.

Paterson’s masterful storytelling has us gripped as Bill boldly mounts the bicycle only for it to speed off recklessly out of control. The vivid imagery of its chaotic path down the treacherous slope highlights how outmatched Bill is against this machine.

The constant juxtaposition between Bill’s usual athletic mastery and his powerlessness in this situation adds to the humor. Paterson’s comical details like animals fleeing in terror pile on the absurdity.

• The character of Mulga Bill was likely inspired by someone Banjo Paterson knew named William Henry Lewis who took up cycling during a drought when there was no feed for horses.
• “Mulga” refers to a type of acacia tree common in the Australian bush as well as being a colloquial term for the wilderness. So Mulga Bill is very much an Aussie bush archetype.
• The poem coincided with the rise of cycling’s popularity in Australia, making it an insightful look at how traditional people reacted to new technology.
• The poem’s depiction of cycling still contributes to Australian culture today, including inspiring the Mulga Bill Bicycle Trail in Eaglehawk, said to be Mulga Bill’s hometown.

Bill’s grudging acceptance that technology has bested his bush skills this time demonstrates his grit along with his hilarious bewilderment. With affectionate wit, Paterson satirizes a proudly traditional man colliding with the modern world.

Mulga Bill’s Bicycle

’Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, “Excuse me, can you ride?”

“See here, young man,” said Mulga Bill, “from Walgett to the sea,
From Conroy’s Gap to Castlereagh, there’s none can ride like me.
I’m good all round at everything, as everybody knows,
Although I’m not the one to talk—I hate a man that blows.
“But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wild cat can it fight.
There’s nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,
There’s nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,
But what I’ll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight;
I’ll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight.”

’Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode,
That perched above the Dead Man’s Creek, beside the mountain road.
He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,
But ere he’d gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak,
It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man’s Creek.

It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box:
The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,
The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,
But Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.
It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree,
It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be;
And then, as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek,
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man’s Creek.

’Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore:
He said, “I’ve had some narrer shaves and lively rides before;
I’ve rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet,
But this was sure the derndest ride that I’ve encountered yet.
I’ll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it’s shaken all my nerve
To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve
It’s safe at rest in Dead Man’s Creek—we’ll leave it lying still;
A horse’s back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill.”