The End of Another Era

Deep depression is starting to set into my soul. I keep telling myself that I am a person above material things. Do you know that old moral dilemma: would you save a precious work of art or a pet from a burning building if you could only save one? If I was in that burning building, I would choose the dog (but not a cat, I would let the cat die). But yet, as much as I know things are just things, I could not help myself from growing attached to a few material items.

This Saturday my bicycle was stolen. My very beaten lovely bike was taken. I bought it used when I first moved to Boston 7 years ago. A black road bike with a welded steel frame. When it was built in 1978, it had been a semi-sweet ride. When I bought it in 2000, no one wanted it because hybrids were all the rage. I even remember the sales guy telling me to just shell out an extra $150 and he would set me with a brand new bike. But it was love at first sight, with my rusted piece of crap. Over the years, I had poured much of my meager earnings into this bike. New brakes and up-top brake handles. Kevlar tires for the Boston streets. An aerodynamic seat that was far from comfortable. Just this past year, I switched I put in a new gear mechanism to make it a single speed bike. It was perfect for the city.

But my attachment to my bicycle (former bicycle sniff sniff) is more than just one of me putting my money and time into it. It was in fact a part of me. During the warmer months, I rode it all around town. I felt free from constraints of the MBTA. I would glide in and out of traffic, making record times from one place to another. And I would get that occasional voice mail and email from friends having spot me on my bike. "Thar she goes," I imagine them saying as I whip by them. B used to tell me that when he saw me from the window of the C-line T, I made him laugh because it looked like I was racing the train. Well, I probably was.

I talked to my sister yesterday. "Guess, you will have to buy another one, " she said. And then I realized that it just wasn't just my persona on a bike that I will miss, it me on that bike: my 1978 black Motobecane with gold lettering, single gear, piece of junk. I liked the fact that it was incredibly heavy, and its greasy chain left marks on all of my jeans. Its steering was never centered, so I always had to tilt on my right side. It was quirky.

Goodbye, my dear bike. I hope your new owner will glide around town on you, wash you on Sundays, and make sure to tune you up once a year. I hope he/she will make sure you are never stuck in the rain, but try to use you on a daily basis. I enjoyed our time together. Wish I had taken a picture of for this post.