Maybe I shouldn't have driven my bike during the winter. Snow, salt, rock, ice and other substance abuse make her look sad and older than she is and in retrospect I feel like I mistreated her somewhat. She's been with me for many years now; it's true, we've had our ups and downs, some shaky and thrilling times alike. She's been faithful to me all these years even when I was seeing other rides. I shouldn't keep neglecting her needs; I know she can be very dirty sometimes. Indeed, after weeks of leaving her untouched, cobwebs had accumulated; she was pretty rusty now I suppose and in dire need of getting some action.
This was a warm and sunny spring day. I picked her up and took her out, laid her down in the grass, gave her sporty frame a nice orange scented bubble bath, sponged her slowly, spent a long time letting my hands expertly handle her most delicate parts, connecting with her. Then when she was all fresh and primed I introduced a few fun accessories I bought lately, prepared the rubbers and applied generous amounts of lube. I started slow, increased the tension, flipped her up, tried different speeds, repositioned her seat, built up the pressure, shifted into high gear, explored her limits, felt her losing control, brought her to new horizons. We rode well into the afterglow of sunset. In the morning, she was gleaming and ready to take on the world!
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The Man on the Bridge — july 2008
