This March, my friend’s bike was stolen out of my back yard. That sucked. I had fixed it up from its moving-beating (the movers bent some stuff that shouldn’t oughta get bent), and I put on some new bars, and replaced the shifters, and before I’d even cut the (brand new, full pop retail)* cables to length, someone stole the fucking thing out of my yard! My yard. Solid black dog, giant Swiss dog, three mean-ass cats, and they still walked away with it. I guess the advantage of stealing transportation is that it aids its own theft.
Anyway, shame and irritation long gone, Swiss dog replaced with a newer model (Requiescat in Pace, Nadia; welcome, Rosie), seasons have changed, and the other night we took a nighttime trip to the CVS to get some drugs for a possible UTI**, not a fun outing. Walking into the store, I check out the bike that’s abandoned*** out front. “That’s a well-sorted hobo bike… THAT I TOTALLY RECOGNIZE. No WAY.” I took it by the horns and rolled it over to the car. Women were exiting the store, chatting about Michelangelo, and to them I must have looked like someone putting my own bicycle into my own car, because that was how I felt. Snip, snap, into the boot, slam the trunk, and I went shopping.
I kind of cruised the store, with an eye out for someone who might have been a bicycle thief (or a duped grandmother with no other transportation), but didn’t spot any candidates. It wasn’t until we got home that I was like, “Hey, remember when Lisa’s bike was stolen out of our yard?” and Angelina’s like, “Oh my god, yeah, that was horrible,” and I got to say, “well, it was parked*** in front of the CVS, and now it’s TOTALLY IN OUR TRUNK!”
The bike now needs another bout of attention, and the brand new Rivendell proto-Dove bars I got at their garage sale are scratched to hell, because the new owner adjusted the shifters three inches down the bar without using a screwdriver to loosen the clamps. Yeah, they weren’t the classiest shifters, but they worked, which was the whole point. I think I’m going to revert to the flat bars it used to have, and donate the cast aluminum 1985 Suntour (Shimano?) shifters from my first mountain bike. I’ve passed along nicer bits from that bike (WTB Greaseguard hub?), and its Salsa stem still lives on the Quickbeam.
The nice fat slicks are gone, replaced with knobbies, which is what makes me want to set this up with the original flat bars, so Lisa can ride Annadel, 1990 style. Since, actually, there is no higher purpose to a bike than to ride in Annadel. Maybe she needs a basket for Belle, so she can bark at everyone they meet.
