The history of the bicycles of my life may be a little modest.With the exception of the first one, a Monark, a relic that I need to refurbish and which I got from my father when I was only a boy, the others I bought second-hand or were “adopted”. Ordered in sequence, they were a Caloi 10, blue; a second Caloi, of aluminum, second-hand, which was stolen; and a third one, a modest Speed, adopted, which ended up becoming the bicycle of my daily use.
In truth, except for the Monark, I can’t say that I’ve fallen desperately in love for any of them, though, nowadays, I’m very fond of them all. The one that was stolen, for example: I always remember it, and have a jolt every time I see a bicycle that looks like it pass by in the street.
Maybe because of this, I still woo at the bicycle ads in the newspaper, but I always ask myself if I should jump into a new love affair. I confess that I’m a little biased towards the reclining and folding bikes, but I refrain myself.
I do it even because I realize, at these moments, that I should give more attention to my Speed, which got into my life donated by some relatives who didn’t want it anymore. After all, it has been my faithful companion these last years and, if I’ve never had some crazy passion for it, little by little I’ve noticed its dedication, its fidelity and, this way, an acknowledgement, a sort of tenderness mixed with gratitude was born in me, but I also have to admit that, little by little, a certain rapture, a certain attention to its simple charms is beginning.
Maybe they just have to be highlighted.
I don’t discard getting involved with other bicycles, but, right now, this bicycle already deserves an ultimate place in my life and, even due to a sort of commitment, I wouldn’t be surprised if I remained forever faithful to it.
Love has ways that we end up discovering only gradually, and through unexpected manners.
