I don't want to be writing this post about another lost item, but write I must. There's just so much going through my head. In pouring it out, I hope I can process a little, grieve a little and figure out what the heck I'm supposed to do next.
My bike was stolen this morning. Non-bikers may be thinking, "ah, just get another one...". A few years ago I probably would have said the same thing.
I bought the bike - a dark green 1998 Gary Fisher Aquila - used from a local bike shop. I still remember the the way the shop felt on that day, the smell of bike tire rubber and chain grease, the way the dust floated in the sunny/hazy shop and the hand written receipt. My ex was with me. We had grand plans of riding around town. In all honesty, I can only recall one or two bike rides with the ex. That bike and I got close after he began making the kind of choices that would remove him from my life on a permanent basis, something that I have come to see as a gift.
That bike helped me find myself and my own strength and I'm really sad that it's gone.
Summer 2007. I began riding what I thought were ridiculously long rides with my friends T & L. We rode most weekends that summer and wound up our summer of rides with a 68 mile ride through the borroughs of New York City. It was so much fun and something I still talk about today. That bike had been in the City with me, in MY City! I got a flat tire, but we repaired it and kept on riding. I carried it up and down a couple different bridge stairs in order to cross into/out of the different borroughs. It carried me for 68 miles, our longest ride ever.
Summer 2008. My bike and I completed the Give Peace a Tri Triathlon. My first triathlon. While there are lighter/faster bikes, designed specifically for triathlon biking, my bike and I made it work. I'll never have another first triathlon.
Summer 2009. I met a boy who likes to bike as much as I do. That bike played a part in our getting to know each other. We've logged many miles already this summer. Wednesday Evening Rides. Rides to Rockford and back. Rides to the ballpark.
I found a bike that's almost exactly like mine, but it's not mine. I think that's the part I'm having the hardest time with. I want the bike that's been there for me. The bike that had become part of who I am. The bike that helped me find my strength.
I'm still the same girl that got on that bike and rode somewhere worth being, both literally and figuratively. I know that's something that can't be taken away from me, but I'm still sad for the loss of the chromoly representation of where I've been and where I am today.