Damn You, Gary Fisher!

My Ross is jealous of the teal fleece-basketed hottie in the basement. In its day, my bike was boss. A 10-speed from like 30 years ago, it still goes far and fast. Ann Craig gave me the bike like 15 years ago; she’d bought it for five dollars at a yard sale in the country.

About 10 years ago, a bike shop (the one on Columbus and 81st — do NOT go there) refused to replace an inner tube on my Ross because they deemed it “unsafe.” That hurt my Ross’s feelings. Sure, only five of the 10 speeds work and sure, there’s a huge rust spot on the frame, which makes me think that one day, before my time, it was hit by a car.

But it’s not unsafe; please don’t say that. My Ross is sensitive. And so am I. The two of us never fell so in love with another bike as when we pulled into the basement last week and there was that teal Gary Fisher, standing in a beam of light. We heard a chorus of angels sing; she stood proud like a mannequin. It’s true, I fell for her too. She appears to be partnered with a red boy’s bike, also gleaming, shining, new, unridden. That cute couple, they have it all, holding court in the bike storage area of my basement.

I think the only time I ever got a new bike was when I saved up my babysitting money and got myself a dark blue Schwinn. I was 13. All of my NYC bikes, and I’ve had four or five, have been used. I used to buy them at Union Square. The last one was a Schwinn. It was stolen right outside of Marble Collegiate Church, one summer night when I was at a women’s spirituality group. Getting a bike stolen can bum your spiritual high. But my Ross has never been stolen.

The Gary Fisher looks like it’s never been any where. She looks like a bored housewife. I could take her places. But I have to take my Ross and head to work.

Damn you, you adorable bike! Why’d you have to be so cute and make me and my Ross feel so bad? You’re a girl bike and I ride a boy bike, so you can see, I am feeling a little curious by my new attraction. And so is my Ross. Honestly, I’ve always liked boy bikes. I still do. That Gary Fisher girl bike is just so sweet.

Yesterday, when I hopped on my Ross to head up Riverside, his pedal came off under my left foot. I pushed it back on, grease on my fingers. It was raining a little. My Ross has no fender. As I rode up to work, my bum got wet. Besides, I was wearing a floor length skirt that I had to knot up around my thigh. I’m either tying my long skirts up on that bike, or sliding my short skirts lower. I just felt miserable. A boy bike is not optimal when you wear a lot of skirts.

I think  the Gary Fisher has defeated my Ross. Why did she have to show up in the basement? So hot and so cool. Damn you, Gary Fisher! But look at her, isn’t she sweet? 

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