Adrian NorthrupI hate to always have bad news to share, I really do. I wish it were all sunshine, but life just isn’t like that. Every once in awhile you have something dropped on you that completely changes the way you look at life and the people around you. I had faith once. I thought we could all live together in harmony, working together for a common goal, united by love and humanity. But this week something happened that just left me feeling cold and disenchanted. Something you see happening in the movies and think, “that could never be me.” Yes, it’s true: somebody ganked my bike off the front yard.
I know what you’re thinking. You think I should march up and down Barstow with a hammer and knock on every door I come to and start removing teeth until people start talking and my bike is returned to me. And you’re right, the catharsis of making people’s mouths look like bombed-out cities while I swing a hammer around screaming “What the hell did you do with my bike?” would feel great. But it probably wouldn’t get me my bike back. No, violence took her away from me and violence isn’t going to bring her back. So instead, I think I’ll focus on the memories of my bike. I think she would have wanted it to be this way.
Greta came into my life in June of 2006. One day out of nowhere she was just leaning against my house. She wasn’t much to look at: the gears were rusting out (and they didn’t so much “change” anymore), one of the break cables was completely severed, several of the spokes were destroyed, the handle bars were kind of bent and when she moved, she made a sound like tin cans being shoved down a garbage disposal. Her paint scheme is another subject entirely. Neon purple and green tones splashed in a kind of Zuba fashion. Kind of looked like somebody in an XXL New Kids on the Block T-shirt had a great time with it in the ’80s.
But over time, I learned to love Greta. She had charm, and she was always there for me. Whether we were taking a quick sweat pants-clad trip to Bottle and Barrel or out for a late night romp through downtown, there was never a dull moment. Maybe you saw me the time on campus when the only working break cable popped out of the handle with an audible “thkk” while I was in traffic, and I careened in between oncoming cars screaming “S—, S—, NO BREAKS NO BREAKS.” Those were the kind of moments that always came up with Greta, and I miss them.
My friends suggested that maybe I took her somewhere and just left her there and “forgot” about her. It’s possible. I’ve done stuff like that before. But I guess I always hope that one day I’ll wake up and roll over and she’ll be there again. I mean really, she’s the kind of woman you always dream of meeting as a boy: old, heavy, purple, rusted and found lying in your front yard. Ah, but she was one of a kind.
I’ll be honest – it’s my fault she’s gone. I never locked her up. She didn’t come with one. To be honest the price of a lock would have been more than what she was worth, or so I thought. Plus, that freewheelin’ woman floated into my life, and I guess I figured when she decided it was time to leave, she would vanish like a ghost in a dream, much like the way she arrived. So I guess maybe it’s not so bad she’s gone. It was probably time. We had some great times, Greta and I, but it just wasn’t meant to last. We’re two different people. I’m so stubborn and set in my ways, and her rusted, Bohemian frame just can’t be put in a box. So I hope she’s making somebody happy. I’m sure whoever took her on Homecoming night needed to be somewhere important, and I’m just glad my bike was leaning against the house, ready to go when they needed her most.
On second thought, I hope they wrapped themselves around a tree. Bring my bike back you horrible animals.
