Love & Machines

That beauty in the picture and I almost didn’t meet if not for the highly cumbersome dutch bike that sucked the wind out of me as I tried to climb up to Hampstead for crepes.

“Worst idea ever!” I yelled after Dawn as she rode her dutch bike up the hill with ease.

It was her ingenious plan that we ditch public transportation for the day and bike about London (a place I’m only just getting to know) on rentals. By the time we got up the hill, I was almost in tears thinking about having to drag the motherload of metal all over the city, all day, and then getting up early to drag it back to the shop. Luckily my botox-free face expressed enough grief as to extract sympathy from Dawn and she agreed to accompany me back to the shop to exchange my mega weights-on-wheels for a bike whose handlebars looked more familiar.

I have never ridden a single-speed. And the idea of not being able to downshift gears, especially after having barely made it up a long, giant slope was daunting. But once I felt how light she was (and I have never carried a bike so light before), I wasn’t afraid anymore. I could even push her if I wanted to without too much panting. I was in bike heaven, if ever there was one. Sure, her painfully uncomfortable seat hurt my buttocks like hell after only about an hour but she was SO SO BEAUTIFUL-a shiny blue frame with white handlebars, seat and wheels, and silver rims. Everyone admired her.

And now, long after she’s been returned to the shop, I’m still thinking about her. I must have her.

But she is so expensive and I don’t know if I can afford her. I don’t know if I want to fear losing her all the time. Alas, I will probably settle for a lesser her. Something a little more rusty, a little less bright, something that nobody would give another look at but would be just as light and fun to ride.