Bicycle Elves!

A few magical things happened over winter break.

And a few of them pertain to my lovely bicycle, which I have named Atticus. It seemed fitting for a strapping young (old) bike with a dignified light…which before I left for break didn’t work…or at least I didn’t know how to turn it on. Considering the rust that decorates its frame in its entirety and how it squeaks and shrieks horribly when braking, I just sort of assumed that a luxury, like a bike light, would not work. But it is a bike with character. The back brake, the one connected to my left handlebar has completely come undone. The metal tubing that is supposed to connect the two is completely broken and just hangs down and happily bounces against my front wheel when I bike. Oh well, I thought, I don’t use that brake anyways. The brakes squeaked loud enough to cause every single person to stare at me with mild horror for obviously doing something strange to my bike to make it create such a sound…but nope! Just braking and even they barely work.

In fact, one time, when biking down a narrow street I was faced with a situation a little ways in front of me being that of two old ladies crossing the street and a woman crossing from a different direction. I quickly weighed my options; I could have a) swerved to the left to try and avoid both groups altogether, more likely hitting another biker front on or still clipping the woman crossing from the other side of the street or b) try and brake starting from where I was at that point 2 yards before them and probably still not brake in time and make a really horrible screech, or c) try and pedal faster and brake for the narrowing hole in between them.

I took my chances with C.

It resulted in me squeezing in between them on my bike, being close enough for one of the old ladies to yell “frenare! come tiri!” which roughly means, “brake! what nerve!” and whap my backpack, sending me a little bit faster on my way.

Needless to say my bike and I have had some memorable moments together. So, one of the most magical things that happened that I greeted with much gratitude, was upon leaving my bike outside for two weeks in a city where bicycle turnover is quite high, it was still there when I came back!

Though the fact that it is so old and rusty comforts me, because it works well enough for me, but I don’t think there is much reason to try and steal it and resell it…because I don’t know if there’s anything that can be done to make it look very much more appealing.

Though…the bell was stolen. Which is odd, because that didn’t work either. But rather the bell than the whole bike! It wasn’t until I rode it later when I discovered more magic that happened. My light worked! And my breaks stopped squeaking! Completely. They were like normal breaks that worked and didn’t make a sound. So I was so wonderfully pleased with my bike for a good long time. The bicycle elves over the break must have been hard at work.

Then, the other day…I fell for the first time.

Directly outside my house, there are the tracks from the tram that passes every 8-10 minutes and makes our single paned windows shake so much that I keep thinking there are earthquakes, especially after this week that has been full of little ones…but that is beside the point. The important thing for this story is that I started to leave my house, immediately got stuck in the rut of the tram tracks and before I knew what was happening, I was flying forward and suddenly on my face breathing into the pavement.

Luckily, I knew there weren’t any cars nor the tram coming, so recovering from the embarrassment of falling immediately after mounting my bike, I stayed on the ground for a little while, breathing, and when I finally looked up I saw two runners running over to me, yelling to ask if I hurt myself, if I was okay. Immediately they grabbed my bike and popped me up to bring me out of the street, asking if I was okay and if they could do anything. While I was catching my breath, an old man stopped on his bicycle and asked if I was okay, telling me that he’s fallen three times…it’s dangerous and happens to everyone and just to be careful in the future…and after the runners made sure I was in the right shape to hold my bike again, they ran off and another old lady came by asking if I was okay and telling me her own stories of her encounters with the tram tracks…which actually has happened to almost all the bikers in Padova that I know.

My first fall was nicely adjusted by the friendliness of Italians and their love to tell their stories…and luckily I only got some bruises instead of bleeds, given I skidded on the ground, but unfortunately…my brakes started squeaking again. Louder.

Back to square one, I guess.