When I was dreaming about my sabbatical, which, by the way, has not yet started--what we're having right now is technically "summer," especially since the only things I've accomplished so far are good times, y'all--I had a vision of myself riding a bike, my new bike, which would allow me to go to the library, the bank, the post office, the grocery store, and sundry other pleasant locations in my general vicinity. The only problem with that vision was the general lack of bike, at least, a bike that was mine. So I started several months ago doing research, such as desultory web surfing of Craigslist. Dr. Write's new bike was and is, of course, inspiring. Today, however, the time arrived, the intersection of opportunity and desire and, of course, funding. So I went to Taylor's, a fine bike shop on the west side, locally owned, and in Kearns. And I found this beautiful, beautiful thing:
The picture does not capture the gleam, the insouciance, the panache of this bike. But I think you'll understand how I feel about this bike when I say, this, this is how I feel:
My son helped me get it home, and by now, I have spun around the neighborhood. Twice. I took the red wonder to the post office to mail a couple of parcels. With the parcels in the basket. When I finished, a woman a little older than I said, "What a beautiful bike!" I transformed into a bliss-bomb and said, "Isn't it! It's brand new! So shiny!" I'm not sure, but I think I kind of caressed the handle bars. "I'm so excited!" I enthused. "I can see why," she said, kindly, and with a smile. And then I rode home.