Crushed Bike Dreams

Pin It Ahhhh, look at that picture above, taken on Christmas morning of me, my father-in-law and the bike he gave me. My eyes so full of promise, my smile as wide as my little mouth can handle. My father-in-law found this bike while cleaning his mom's garage, and decided to clean it up for me. I was so happy. I haven't had my own bike since I was 12, and got hit by a car while on a bike. It was traumatizing.

So yesterday, I finally got my bike. After 7 1/2 months. It's been a long wait. I knew it needed work, but from what I understood, it needed about 6 hours of work (I guess an hour a month). Anyway, as the holidays came and went -- Armenian Christmas (Jan. 6), Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter, there was still no bike. Well, I thought for sure by my birthday in April. For sure. Nope. No bike then either.

We visit my in-laws often, I'd inquire about the bike once in a while, but always heard the same thing, not ready yet. So I got pushy this summer. I wanted to ride the bike!

So yesterday, my husband picked up my now ready bike and brought it home. I was pretty excited. I drive home with a migraine, but was determined to go bike riding that evening. After a couple of pills, I put on my bike helmet (safety first!), my bike gloves and headed out.

Hmmm, I thought to myself, this bike sounds funny. It just had a tune up, so I was expecting less noise. It took a while for me to maneuver the gears from the 1970s. Eventually, I sort of got it, but the bike just sounded awful. My husband pointed out it was an old bike, it was never going to become a new bike. And I understood what he was saying. It's just that I waited soooooo long. I had built up these images in my head, and these feelings in my heart. And instead, there were no butterflies flying around me, nor birds singing as I rode the bike, and if there were, I wouldn't be able to hear them past the funny sounds my gears made, with each turn of the pedal.


  1. Did you get hit by a car in America or in Soviet-Motherland?!

  2. In America. By a cholo, who was looking back, waving to his homies, and hit me at like 5 miles per hour. Then a neighbor called the cops, and the firefighters came. It was a sad day.