my bike, my butt, my cap.

I picked up my formerly dilapidated (the kids call them “vintage” these days) bike from a bike shop on Melrose today. It needed some new fixins.

I took Fairfax, racing disgruntled drivers flying back to work from expensive lunches. I’ve had many of those. Not too long ago, I ordered a sub-par sandwich from [restaurant name withheld]. My equally sub-par bill read “$15.34”. I don’t remember biting into a Kobe beef burger. Oh wait–I didn’t. I had a grilled veggie sandwich smudged with a pea-sized serving of goat cheese. Right.

Kind of wishing I had a better bike, I swerved in and out of foot traffic on the sidewalk. I unintentionally bunny hopped over bumps because my bike is that old. Wearing an old unflattering T-shirt and an even older, more unflattering shiny baseball cap, I felt like such a dork on my sorry excuse for an eco-friendly ride. Did I mention it was sweltering hot?

Only half the way left, I decided to cool off with a soft chicken taco from Frank’s. Food always makes everything better. Getting off, I heard a whistle, or more like a “whoop” than anything.

“Sweet ride”, said the scruffy-bearded man in a blue-grayish-oldish cap.

I’m leaned over now, trying to lock my bike to a meter. It was as if he was commenting on my butt, a worthy cause no doubt.

“Thanks. It’s been through a lot.” Was I still talking about my bike?

The man disappeared into Franks. I leaned against the meter, catching my breath, suddenly more introspective, and loving my bike, my butt, my cap (the T-shirt still sucks). And the best part is, an hour later when I finally ate my buck-fiddy taco, it tasted better than the best Kobe beef burger I’ve ever had.