Time Out!

I've had this real thing for bikes for, say, quite awhile now. They've always held some serious allure for me. I can remember back to one of my first: painted bright yellow, a flowery-print banana seat and, the way I remember it, these big ole chopper-like handlebars.
But, prolly not. For the handlebar part only, though. The rest of it was shit hot.

I've gone through bike phases, for sure. I don't remember too much bike time in high school, for instance. It was all about our Model-A Ford then. Who needed to ride a bicycle when you could drive the next, man-made machine just UP from a two-wheeler? I actually skipped the whole gears and hand-brakes generational thing. So, while other young, hip kids were tooling around on their 5-speed Schwinn's.... ole molly here was still kickin it with the foot brakes.


Then, there was that time period in there where I was doing the birkenstock, woven-pants thing and I tried the hot new sport of mountain biking! Ugh. That was not my thing. I don't need all that bump-stuff and adrenaline and straight-downhill-fear. No thank you!


So, it wasn't until after college life, into adult life, I moved to NYC and hit up the flea market on 24th street looking for housewares, old paintings, and some scrappy photo books that I happened upon a bike instead. There was a slew of them there in the old parking lot and I don't remember seeing one mountain bike in the whole lot. This was my posse. My bike love was re-born. I bought an old, black BSA that weighed about 500 pounds and have loved it with great pride to this day. It took me all over New York City and is a key component to some of my absolute, very bestest memories.


Bikes play a hugemongous-superly-fantastic part of my everyday life. It's trippy. I can check out someones bike like I'm ...um.... yeah, well.... like I'm checking someone OUT! RK does it too. We do it at the same time: 'oh, man, sweet bike. yeah, check out those cool pedals, oh wow, look at that, ooooh, those handlebars are sweet'... this is starting to sound weird. It's just a little bike love.


About a year ago, RK said it was time to put away the BSA and it was time to get a bike that had real gears for going UP hill and real brakes for going DOWN hill. I really had no idea what he was talking about. I thought everyone's knees burned and ached when they tried to go up a hill. I'd never ridden with gears. And I'd surely never ridden up hills like they have in San Francisco. Eventually, he wore me down. I think I might have gasped with joy the first time I used a gear, for real, going up a hill. RK must've heard me and said to himself, 'Thats It!'

I'll admit it. I got into it. He was right. Hand brakes can be fantastic. It's true. I liked being able to bike up our hill to our front door. So, there you go. I put my old BSA to the side and started riding what I always thought of as a "mountain bike". I even put my highly valuable "i (heart) my bike" bell on it! Yes, I grew to love it.

Anyway, this is all to say that today was a bit of shock when I walked outside to get on my gear-filled, hand-breaking bike and head out for the day and it wasn't there. All that was left was a cut lock, fallen to the ground. Ah, stupid me. I let my guard down and there she goes.
So, it's out there somewhere.
I feel for it.
And, I feel strangely violated.


The only silver lining I can see is that I'll now pull out my old BSA beauty, fix 'er up and get her back on the hills.
She's a looker, that one.