h1

saga of my bike*

April 23, 2008

It’s official, spring has finally arrived. Do you know how I know this? It isn’t the bushes on the corner that have grown leaves or the blooming magnolia tree half a block a way. It isn’t the green grass poking up in various yards or the daffodils edging the street corner. Really it has everything to do with the fact that I biked to work today. Yes indeed I once again have a working bike.

It all started last fall when we moved. Life was hectic and the weather was getting colder, so I just left my bike in the laundry room of our old apartment. Besides I just didn’t have the time amidst all my busy tv watching, meeting attending, homework doing evenings to walk the three blocks back to our old apartment, find the appropriate key and retrieve the bike. Months passed, the snows came and I still didn’t retrieve my bike. By this point the task was no longer listed in the nightly “to do” lists, but instead was delegated into those nagging worries that sit on the back of your brain convincing you that you are indeed a failure of a person (another good example of this would be the time that I “lost” my viola for around 4 years before it showed up in the orchestra room of my old high school).

Finally over spring break, Jess (in the same mess as myself) and I headed over to the laundry room half convinced that our bikes would have been long cleaned out and given away. To our great surprise and relief they were indeed not stolen, confiscated or sold for parts, but were laying there amid a pile of bikes waiting breathlessly for their negligent owners. So while my bike was indeed present, visible and existent it was also very much not ridable, in fact it was barely movable (thanks to a smooshed back brake). Now if I had been living back in Goshen with my parents the solution to all this would be quite easy. I would say something like, “Hey Dad, my bike is broke and won’t do that “moving” thing.” Then a few days later I would see Dad go out to the garage and then wallah, my bike would be all better.

Unfortunately I am now 3 hours away from this amazing level of bike repair and also completely devoid of bike tools or patch kits or other basic things I should have (such as maybe a helmet!). Fortunately I also live in a neighborhood where everybody and their mother’s ride bikes. So instead I took my bike over to the Recyclery (takes donated bikes, fixes them up and then sells them or gives them away) where Camille (goddess of all bike related things) spent an hour helping me patch a leak in the inner tire, re-align the breaks, oil the chain and basically give my bike life again. So yes, long story short, I once again can ride my bike around the neighborhood.

*Alternate title: How Abby sometimes uses 4 paragraphs to tell a 2 sentence story

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