Requiem for dead bikes. You shot me along the broken streets of whoreonto. Across cracked out alleys and wet puddles and chasms I was borne by you at great speed or limping progress to my various destinations. I broke and strained and buckled and popped you. I rode you hard and put you away wet. I took you for granted and always scanned the streets for you and your neglected kind.
I took you in, opened my arms and walked you home on two flat tires and a broken and screeching chassis. I scrounged for parts and hemmed and hawed about paying to fix you, in the end opting to do it myself.
It was frustrating, confusing, time consuming, painful and stressful. But in taking on your battered and abandoned form, I learned so much. I decided to spend the time to examine your complex systems and your exact tuning and timing. I listened to your clicks and clunks and catches and skips. I honed the strange language of tension and grip, of speed and handling. I began to speak Bike and see in Cycle. I fell in love. With your broken parts and with your replacement fixes.
My repairs began to add up and you began to ride better and I was pleased enough to not stop. The pieces I added started to work and work better than I found you with. My beautiful Franken-bike was the best little machine on the road. You did not have impeccable paint. And some parts were rusted or ill fitting. But I had made you mine, and I knew every inch of your frame and workings and spirit. And because I took the time to fix you up you became mine, and I yours. And in that collaboration my love grew and grew.
But the nature of you and what I had done has to be known. Because the magic can’t be captured from the wilds and held forever. It’s basic nature means it must return to the maelstrom that such beauty and possibility could emerge. The fire and danger and love and intensity could only grow from crime and passion and darkness and loss. The synchronicity and recognition that drove our strange and unassailable union can only now sink back into obscurity and wonderment and melancholy.
From the same dark streets and nameless alleys I executed my daring extraction of your languishing beauty, so go you now. My locks slipped and my guards relaxed, my attention waned and my vigilance faltered.
Swooped upon and borne away on wet pavement and scented winds your wheels flicked. Another has claimed you to bear them to their destinations, their hopes and desires wound in your spokes and their dreams and intentions filling your tires with taut and steely purpose. Wending through roads unknown to me and locked to strange houses and navigating the dark streets of the future. Away from my eye and hand and toolkit.
I love you. Bike I found. I remember everywhere you took me.