The day my bicycle and I were reconciled...
It was a relationship of mutual hatred. For the first week I tried my hardest to steer my bicycle into every possible obstacle, while it tried its hardest to make me infertile. I took it down the cobble-stoned back ways, over bricks and bumps. It responded by bouncing me up and down on the seat like a marrionette. Every time I sat down I would wince.
Everyone else flicked their bicycle lights on so quickly that I never managed to figure out how it was done. So every night before setting off in the dark I would battle with the switch, poking it in a hundred different ways, foaming at the mouth with barely supressed rage. Eventually it would give an impudent 'click' and switch on, and I would still be none the wiser as to how it had happened.
Even the bicycle chain was against me. It took me about ten minutes to get the two little hooky things lined up, and then just as I was about to turn the key on the padlock they would slip out of my hands and I would be back to square one. When you're just been riding with the wind in your face, and you're bent over with your nose running, it is not fun playing hide and seek with a padlock.
Not being able to signal without falling off my bicycle, and it being a fine and sunny day, I decided to visit Delftse Hout - a man made lake and park to the east of delft. There I could practice my riding, and fall off to my hearts content. The sky was blue, the birds were singing. My bicycle and I travelled past the oostport, and down along the canal. We stumbled across a parade where it began (endearingly called a 'taptoe' in Dutch). The start of a parade is the best place to watch, because you see all the musicians farting around and having last minute ciggies before forming themselves into regiments. I leaned my bicycle against its kickstand, where it waited patiently for me to finish taking photos of the parade. Then we moved along, unified in motion.
We cycled down towards the park, finding our way by the sun. There we came across a woman to ask directions. We glided to a halt in front of her, found our new bearing, and were on our way. We made it to the park, moving as one. Together we cycled through the dappled shade of the trees, crossing pathways unknown to man. I took in the view, cruising along, while my bicycle enjoyed the sensation of sand beneath its treads.
We spent an emotional day together. Gradually I learned to accept my bicycle for what it was, and forgave it for being so expensive. The biycle itself is not to blame, it can't help the way it was made. And as my attitude towards it softened it sensed this transition. It too found the inner strength to come to terms with its new lifestyle, learning to co-operate with its new master.
Now no longer do I confine it to the lonesome dark of the bicycle shed, now I let it go to rest and be free beneath the spreading leaves of the apple tree.
Everyone else flicked their bicycle lights on so quickly that I never managed to figure out how it was done. So every night before setting off in the dark I would battle with the switch, poking it in a hundred different ways, foaming at the mouth with barely supressed rage. Eventually it would give an impudent 'click' and switch on, and I would still be none the wiser as to how it had happened.
Even the bicycle chain was against me. It took me about ten minutes to get the two little hooky things lined up, and then just as I was about to turn the key on the padlock they would slip out of my hands and I would be back to square one. When you're just been riding with the wind in your face, and you're bent over with your nose running, it is not fun playing hide and seek with a padlock.
Not being able to signal without falling off my bicycle, and it being a fine and sunny day, I decided to visit Delftse Hout - a man made lake and park to the east of delft. There I could practice my riding, and fall off to my hearts content. The sky was blue, the birds were singing. My bicycle and I travelled past the oostport, and down along the canal. We stumbled across a parade where it began (endearingly called a 'taptoe' in Dutch). The start of a parade is the best place to watch, because you see all the musicians farting around and having last minute ciggies before forming themselves into regiments. I leaned my bicycle against its kickstand, where it waited patiently for me to finish taking photos of the parade. Then we moved along, unified in motion.
We cycled down towards the park, finding our way by the sun. There we came across a woman to ask directions. We glided to a halt in front of her, found our new bearing, and were on our way. We made it to the park, moving as one. Together we cycled through the dappled shade of the trees, crossing pathways unknown to man. I took in the view, cruising along, while my bicycle enjoyed the sensation of sand beneath its treads.
We spent an emotional day together. Gradually I learned to accept my bicycle for what it was, and forgave it for being so expensive. The biycle itself is not to blame, it can't help the way it was made. And as my attitude towards it softened it sensed this transition. It too found the inner strength to come to terms with its new lifestyle, learning to co-operate with its new master.
Now no longer do I confine it to the lonesome dark of the bicycle shed, now I let it go to rest and be free beneath the spreading leaves of the apple tree.
posted by Girl with a pearl at
11:16 PM
1 Comments:
There is something so goddam painful about riding a bicycle on cobblestones. My womanly parts are cringing just thinking about it. And the whole of Holland is covered in cobblestones. I find it hard enought to walk on them without falling over let alone ride a bike. Ack... have you tried high heels yet... just don't.
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Anonymous, at 4:08 AM
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