My Old Bike

I bought a beat up old bicycle, a classic Western Flyer, for $25 bucks.  It's red and has silver fenders.  The gears don't work, it's stuck in one gear, but it isn't a bad gear to be in.  It's got those old style handlebars.  The brakes work fine.  And the tires are good, they still have some life in them.  One of the rims is a little bent,  and it sort of wobbles when I ride, but you know, that's ok, I sort of wobble when I ride too.  


There's something great about this old bike.  It isn't made out of super-cool, super-light alloys, it isn't high-tech or sleek.  It's a cheap-ass old bike.  It fits me like a glove.  It's out of time, and from another world.  And well, when I ride it, it's sort like "kid's play."  Even when I'm just trying to get from one place to another, there's an aspect of play when I get on the thing.  And there's an aspect of time-traveling, or just being out of time. And that's sort of how I feel about my life; it's kind of like time traveling and out of time and sort of like "kids play."


I have decided to consider this a good, and not a bad, thing.