My beloved bike was stolen today. From the stairwell of my apartment building where I'd been safely parking it for over a year. While I've accepted this is something felt by every cyclists at one time or another I'm very sad. I loved my little blue bike. I also loved that we were the same manufacture year. But, alas it was just an object and things could be much worse. Unfortunately I don't have the money right now to get a new bike, so I'll be borrowing Karebear's spare for the time being until I can acquire a more permanent fix.
I just hope who ever gets my bike next loves it the way I did. I hope they ring its bell on a regular basis at their neighbors and the average passer-by on lovely Sunday afternoons. I hope they take it out on the Hawthrone trail and ride it fast. Fly down the hill by the hospital without applying the brakes. Avoid pot holes and mud puddles. Take it out to coffee to hang out with the slightly cooler bikes. Participate in Critical Mass...
Yet as nostalgic as I'm feeling, I wasn't the first owner. It only seems fitting that I'm not the last.
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