Bike and Lock

So I'm already struggling on the daily photo blog thing. Not that I don't have the photos--I just forget I have the blog. I'll endeavor to do better.

I present to you my new favorite toy: Bike. That's what I call it, usually with the first-person singular possessive pronoun preceding it. I remember a time when I used to name my bike; I think I named it after a horse. Majarose, I think it was. Or Tisha. I would pretend I was riding a horse and call "Giddy up!" and slap its rear end. I guess I've grown out of that phase.

That was probably twenty years ago, and I was six. The bike, I remember, was purple with a pink seat and pink handles. I think it had different colored beads on the spokes that tinkled as the wheels turned. I never took it far, just around the neighborhood and maybe a couple of times to Plymouth Elementary. It was the bike I was riding when Kelli suggested I ride with my eyes closed and I crashed and skinned my knees. It was the bike that I used to roll over sluggish potato bugs on the pavement. It was the bike I never thought to lock because in those days you didn't worry about someone stealing it.

Eventually, I graduated to a "big girl" bike, which I now realize was still not exactly full size. This one was white and splotched purple, black, and pink. Kelli's was green and purple, and I envied her that bike. No real reason why, just that it belonged to Kelli, and as every little sister knows, whatever the big sister has is unquestionably superior. This bike took me to school every day, but I don't know whatever happened to it. It probably got lost, or trashed, or sold, in one of the many moves our family passed through over the years. And I never got another bike.

Until now. I am an adult about to embark on a PhD track. And again, I have a bike.

And I love it.

(I bought a lock.)