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Bike riding through Brooklyn is an activity with which I have only recently become comfortable. Possessing a nervous disposition to begin with, I associated riding a bicycle through the city with inevitably dangerous consequences. As if one slight waver down a narrow street would find me on top of an unsuspecting windshield or spiraling across a driver’s door swinging open in front of me. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.
But two years ago, Charlie found a vintage, maroon huffy on the side of a Pennsylvania road with my name written all over it. He brought it back to Brooklyn and taught me how to be a street-smart, urban biker.
This past Sunday morning, we walked outside to discover that someone had stolen my bike. Cut the metal lock and left no trace that it had ever been resting against that street sign. We’ve been scouring the streets ever since, doing double-takes on every bike that is chained to a pole or a fence or a tree.
We just got back from Cape Cod where we spent a few days soaking up the sun. I promise to post a few photos once the sting of my bike theft wears off. But for now, I’m reminiscing about my last ride through the dunes of Provincetown.
Bike thief, if you’re out there, do the right thing. Bring that bike back to the corner where you found it.
Good luck with the bike. In regard to your post on communal living; I spent my summers of the late 1940’s with my aunt in Parkchester, Bronx. Although she had a little more light and nice grassy areas surrounding her apartment she still had the sights and sounds that you had. The keys, children playing, echoes of footsteps in the hall, the aroma of someone cooking something new, friendly people bumping into each other in the halls or the elevator. It was a nice feeling. Thanks for bringing those memories back for me.
Glad you enjoyed the post. I love hearing about other peoples’ living experiences in NYC, so I thank you for sharing yours! There are so many unique stories that can come out of living in tight, cramped quarters, surrounded by strangers. If only walls could talk!
There’s a special place in hell for people who steal bikes THIS sassy.
Ha! A place filled with rats and bed bugs, I hope.