Yesterday I bought a new bicycle. Brand spanking new. It was $84 US, mas o menos. I’d be laughing all the way to the bank if it were Made in China, but the truth is, the bike wasn’t really even Made. It just became. Plastic crank arms. Lego parts. Tin foil rims. Pretty comfy little seat though. 15 gears. The kind of bicycle you wouldn’t even find at Target or Home Depot. So I got this bike, and all of a sudden I felt different.
For those of you at home who may not know, I am a professional bicycle rider. Of late, I’ve traded in much of my fitness for a different kind of ability on two wheels. That’s as vague as I’m going to leave it. Anyway, I rode around the hectic block three of four times, each time having to stop back into the shop for a tune-up. When it felt about as right as a piece of shit bicycle could ever feel, I soft pedaled away in search of a fan.
The big fan came in a big box. I’d call it 2’x2’x6”. The fan cost almost as much as the bicycle. I cut a hand hole in the cardboard box. I was going to be on the highway during the heat of the day, which happens to coincide with the busiest time of day on these chuddered roads. I knew I had to reach into my bike riding bag of tricks to pull this one off. The ice cream man appeared. I bought a watermelon stick for 20 cents.
