Manhattan is an obstacle course. At least on a bike, it is. I love it. Taxis and busses and pedestrians, oh my! Or maybe it's like diving with varying degrees of difficulty. He's going to attempt a triple with three full twists, backward. On Lexington Avenue, going the wrong direction!
A difficulty of 5.7. Ok, I'm getting a little carried away here. I'm on a Bianchi now. It's blue. I retired my Specialized Hard Rock last summer. After it got stolen, something just changed. I found it months later, somehow, under a ton of trash at Red Square on Houston...that's a story...but it just wasn't the same. The gear shifts had been downgraded, the wheels, too, the handle bars rigged in a couple of pieces, the whole frame covered in brown paint, which I chipped off, and stickers, which I couldn't. I donated it to a guy who fixes bikes in the neighborhood but kept the seat up until last week. I just couldn't give the seat away.
When the bike got stolen originally, I had walked out of taking a practice test at Kaplan, seat in hand, and found the bike gone. I had a seat, but no bike. It was sort of like the memory of it lived on in the seat. Is that silly? The new wheels I'm driving, though, have the same spirit as the original. They're brothers bikes. Or cousins maybe. Isn't it funny the things we value in this life?
A difficulty of 5.7. Ok, I'm getting a little carried away here. I'm on a Bianchi now. It's blue. I retired my Specialized Hard Rock last summer. After it got stolen, something just changed. I found it months later, somehow, under a ton of trash at Red Square on Houston...that's a story...but it just wasn't the same. The gear shifts had been downgraded, the wheels, too, the handle bars rigged in a couple of pieces, the whole frame covered in brown paint, which I chipped off, and stickers, which I couldn't. I donated it to a guy who fixes bikes in the neighborhood but kept the seat up until last week. I just couldn't give the seat away. 
When the bike got stolen originally, I had walked out of taking a practice test at Kaplan, seat in hand, and found the bike gone. I had a seat, but no bike. It was sort of like the memory of it lived on in the seat. Is that silly? The new wheels I'm driving, though, have the same spirit as the original. They're brothers bikes. Or cousins maybe. Isn't it funny the things we value in this life?
No comments:
Post a Comment