A Parting That's Sorrow, But Far From Sweet
OPEN: JANUS FILE #0295
It's hard saying goodbye to an old friend. I had to do just that this afternoon.
It all started early this morning. I got off work just after midnight, and began the bike ride home. Nothing out of the ordinary; I've done it dozens of times. But I was a little over halfway home when I heard what can only be described as a metallic crunching sound, and my pedals locked up. I dragged the bike to the nearest streetlight, and saw that the derailler had somehow twisted itself into a position that it should not occupy. I could also tell that this was beyond my skill or ability to repair.
The bad part was that I was still about 1.5 miles away from home, and I had to push or carry the bike with me every step of the way. I made one stop along the way, at Speedway. I got some hot chocolate, and I was really wishing that I could make it Irish.
I finally made it home around 1:30 AM, and was suitably tired enough that I had no trouble falling asleep. I think I woke up around 8:30, because I knew I had to see about getting the bike repaired immediately, before I had to go to work at 2:00 PM.
Fortunately, I was able to ride TARC all but about the last two or three blocks to St. Matthews Schwinn, which is where I have probably taken my bike most of the time I've needed something done. Most of the time, it has been something simple, like getting new tubes or tires. I already knew this wasn't going to be as simple.
The guy at the store said that the derailler needede to be replaced -- something I already suspected. He had a used derailler that he could use, and that it would be ready by about 1:00. He even had a loaner bike for me to use, and I went to the library for about an hour or so.
When I went back, though, the prognosis was grimmer than originally thought. Both of my wheels were also warped and needed to be replaced, as well as the brake pads. When added together, the cost of all the repairs would be quite a bit more than the cost of the loaner bike.
I've never been much of a pet person. At that moment, though, I had an idea that I was just given a decision as gut-wrenching as a dog-lover being told that his pet would have to be put to sleep. As much as I loved that bike, I knew the time had come to say goodbye.
I asked the dealer if there was any chance that he would be able to salvage anything. Part of me was hoping that he might be able to refurbish it, and that it would rise like the phoenix from the ashes, for someone else to ride and cherish. Unfortunately, that hope was dashed. Just as the repair costs would have been too much for me, it would probably cost too much for him to make it serviceable once again. He might be able to salvage a few parts, but he would probably junk most of it -- although he did promise that they would wait until after I was gone before he did that. That probably hurt more than anything else.
I had made a few modifications to the old bike over the years. The most visible was a rear cargo rack, but I also had a mount for my bike lock, and a headlight. I watched as they took the various modifications off the old bike, and transplanted them to the new bike. They even took the front reflector that originally came with the old bike and placed it on the new bike. In the space of about 15 minutes, all that was left was the frame. I paid for the new bike, and I rode it off to work.
The new bike is a Roadmaster; the same brand as my old bike. It rides a little differently -- it feels like I'm a little lower to the ground, although I could probably raise the seat just a little. The new bike is a 12-speed, where the old one was a 15-speed. There are a lot of minor differences between the two, and I probably haven't discovered most of them yet. And everytime I discover a new one, it will be another reminder of my lost friend.
I didn't realize how attached I had become to my old bike. It had been cheap, reliable transportation for close to four years. I suspect that it won't take too long for this new bike to worm its way into my heart as well -- and that saying goodbye to it will be as equally painful.
Goodbye, old friend.
CLOSE: JANUS FILE #0295
It's hard saying goodbye to an old friend. I had to do just that this afternoon.
It all started early this morning. I got off work just after midnight, and began the bike ride home. Nothing out of the ordinary; I've done it dozens of times. But I was a little over halfway home when I heard what can only be described as a metallic crunching sound, and my pedals locked up. I dragged the bike to the nearest streetlight, and saw that the derailler had somehow twisted itself into a position that it should not occupy. I could also tell that this was beyond my skill or ability to repair.
The bad part was that I was still about 1.5 miles away from home, and I had to push or carry the bike with me every step of the way. I made one stop along the way, at Speedway. I got some hot chocolate, and I was really wishing that I could make it Irish.
I finally made it home around 1:30 AM, and was suitably tired enough that I had no trouble falling asleep. I think I woke up around 8:30, because I knew I had to see about getting the bike repaired immediately, before I had to go to work at 2:00 PM.
Fortunately, I was able to ride TARC all but about the last two or three blocks to St. Matthews Schwinn, which is where I have probably taken my bike most of the time I've needed something done. Most of the time, it has been something simple, like getting new tubes or tires. I already knew this wasn't going to be as simple.
The guy at the store said that the derailler needede to be replaced -- something I already suspected. He had a used derailler that he could use, and that it would be ready by about 1:00. He even had a loaner bike for me to use, and I went to the library for about an hour or so.
When I went back, though, the prognosis was grimmer than originally thought. Both of my wheels were also warped and needed to be replaced, as well as the brake pads. When added together, the cost of all the repairs would be quite a bit more than the cost of the loaner bike.
I've never been much of a pet person. At that moment, though, I had an idea that I was just given a decision as gut-wrenching as a dog-lover being told that his pet would have to be put to sleep. As much as I loved that bike, I knew the time had come to say goodbye.
I asked the dealer if there was any chance that he would be able to salvage anything. Part of me was hoping that he might be able to refurbish it, and that it would rise like the phoenix from the ashes, for someone else to ride and cherish. Unfortunately, that hope was dashed. Just as the repair costs would have been too much for me, it would probably cost too much for him to make it serviceable once again. He might be able to salvage a few parts, but he would probably junk most of it -- although he did promise that they would wait until after I was gone before he did that. That probably hurt more than anything else.
I had made a few modifications to the old bike over the years. The most visible was a rear cargo rack, but I also had a mount for my bike lock, and a headlight. I watched as they took the various modifications off the old bike, and transplanted them to the new bike. They even took the front reflector that originally came with the old bike and placed it on the new bike. In the space of about 15 minutes, all that was left was the frame. I paid for the new bike, and I rode it off to work.
The new bike is a Roadmaster; the same brand as my old bike. It rides a little differently -- it feels like I'm a little lower to the ground, although I could probably raise the seat just a little. The new bike is a 12-speed, where the old one was a 15-speed. There are a lot of minor differences between the two, and I probably haven't discovered most of them yet. And everytime I discover a new one, it will be another reminder of my lost friend.
I didn't realize how attached I had become to my old bike. It had been cheap, reliable transportation for close to four years. I suspect that it won't take too long for this new bike to worm its way into my heart as well -- and that saying goodbye to it will be as equally painful.
Goodbye, old friend.
CLOSE: JANUS FILE #0295