My dear Schwinn,
I’m not breaking up with you, I swear.
Yes, there’s another bike in my garage now. One with 10 gears and a set of racing handlebars – the kind that resemble a billy goat’s horns. But I promise I’m not replacing you. You’re still in the garage, too, aren’t you?
Your truly devoted, Sarah.
I’m one of those weird people that talks to inanimate objects. At least I don’t name them. My aunt’s college bike is named Peter, one of my college buddies named her car Boris, but my possessions have always been “the ___” as if they were the only ones in the world worth mentioning.
Which they are.
My Schwinn is the same bike I’ve been riding since I turned 15 and a half. (I have a winter birthday. If you want any gifts besides snow boots and a sled, you celebrate some years on your half-birthday.) It’s green, it’s comfortable, it’s 40 years old. It has character.
I talk to it.
You know the bond they say grows between a man and his horse? It goes for bikes too. So when I got a 30-year-old road bike this spring, I felt sorry for my Schwinn.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m keeping my Schwinn. I really hope the Schwinn will reconcile itself to the new situation and teach my new blue bike to behave. You know how new pets are – adorable, feisty, not potty trained. I took the blue bike on a ride a couple of weeks ago and it threw me off. I have the skinned knee to prove it.
It’s been in time-out since then. We’ll see how it behaves this weekend for the Cass County Historical Bike Ride. If it’s learned its lesson, I might be able to take it out in public more often.