I love riding my bike.
Boulder's saving grace was that it was a bike-friendly town, and when I'd come home from the grocery store, precariously balancing way too many bags on my handlebars, I was far from abnormal. In fact, it was the norm. And I loved that.
Today, I continue to love to bike - I bike to work, bike to bars and restaurants and parks with my boyfriend, bike to meet friends, bike when I'm in a rush and walking isn't fast, bike to the library, bike when I feel like it.
But on Monday, when biking to the library, my seat post finally completely broke. I rode back home, with my seat perilously swinging forward and backwards at random, making for a scary ride. Wayne examined it and pronounced it really messed up, and said that to fully fix it, he'd need to put a new seat post.
And ahem, that would cost $100.
And ahem, Mabel (my bike's name) is fifteen years old.
And don't you want to keep up with all the speedster hipsters on road bikes who keep passing you?
It might be about time.
I pouted. I was depressed. But I knew it really was time. Mabel was fifteen. She was heavy and carrying her up and down the stairs was difficult. When I borrowed Wayne's bike to ride to the library, I almost flew over the handlebars. Wow. Brakes are supposed to work instantly...not a ten seconds later. Okay, it's past Mabel's prime.
Wayne was excited to help me, as he loves bikes. What kind? Pink. Yes, Cherie, pink, but what kind. Oh. A road bike. I guess. Something lighter. It has to have brakes and gears and a kickstand.
Surprisingly, this was difficult. I couldn't find anything that was pink and adult. I found a hybrid and decided to go with it even though it wasn't as light as I wanted and looked a little cruiser-esque.
Wayne and I went out to Big City Bicycle, where my family has always bought all of our bikes. I test rode the Bianchi and decided to get it.
But wait, maybe you should test ride more than one bike?
I saw a sleek, fuchsia coloured road bike. Oooh, hello, my name is Cherie and I think this is love. I rode it - moved fast, moved well, handled the turns well.
The bike shop owner tried to encourage me to get the Bianchi - it had fatter tires which he thought would be better in the city. But I wanted the smaller, lighter, faster bike. And it felt so right.
I struggled with indecision...and ultimately bought the Fuji road bike. I love it!
Wayne and I headed to Floyd Bennett Field, where he practiced land boarding and I rode around aimlessly, enjoying views of the ocean, paths and roads with few cars. The bike handled well, even over bumpy roads and potholes, and the brakes, wonderful.
It was love...and my new bike is named Esther.
I've had Mabel, my purple mountainbike, since my 18th birthday. I was excited when I got her - finally, I got rid of that wretched pink road bike I sped through the suburbs on. I pictured myself riding Mabel on dirt roads, but really, she tends to stick to real roads. The Williamsburg Bridge is a regular haunt for her.
Biking in NYC is a tricky thing - there are cars that hate bikes, cars that don't like for bikes, oblivious pedestrians, weather, potholes, but honestly, the freedom my bike gives me overpowers all of that.
I love biking in miniskirts while singing at top of my lungs. It's kind of a signature move for me - a friend in my running club said a while ago, "I saw some girl in a short miniskirt and pink legwarmers singing while biking down Kent and I knew it had to be you." Of course.
And in honour of my beloved Mabel, who will hopefully never be stolen, I share a bike cheer we did years ago on Critical Mass on the eve of the anti-RNC protests when several friends were arrested (Booo, NYPD!):
I like to bike-bike
Because to bike is what I like!
On all cars and trucks we call a general strike!
I like to bike - bike
Calling all bikers to unite!
I think I'd like to trade that car in for a bike!
'Cause there ain't no power like pedal power 'cause the pedal power don't stop!
--Say what?
It's an anti-fossil fuel revolution from the bottom up to the top!
So fuck cops when they try to keep us
from taking the streets
Every day is critical mass!
So jump on a bike
and join with us
and together we'll kick the gas!
Tired, but feeling better after good conversations, carrying bags and heading home to the cat, I stuck the key in the lock when we were approached by a guy riding a small, nice fixed gear bike. He was trying to sell us this bike at 1:30 in the morning - for $20. A bike that could be worth $500.
"It's a nice bike, isn't it? Only $20," the guy said as I jammed my key into the mailbox key with the front door halfway open, Wayne looking at the bike.
"Yeah, but I don't know where it came from," Wayne told him.
"Oh, I had it for a week."
Bullshit. You're trying to sell a bike that's easily worth hundreds for $20 after one in the morning - something is up.
After we got upstairs, I felt this sickening pool of disgust in the pit of my stomach. I felt bad for the person whose bike was stolen (as it oh-so-obviously was), and what it was stolen for (probably drugs - $20 for such a bike is crazy and they must be desperate for money and to get rid of the stolen goods), when Wayne said to me, "I should have bought that bike."
I thought he was crazy for a moment. It was stolen. Bad karma. But then he continued.
"I should have bought that bike and listed it on Craigslist and returned it to its owner."
And if only all bike stealing stories had such beautiful endings.
