you asked me about biking in SF and i didn't want to answer because she was mine and you weren't supposed to know about her. that sort of thing doesn't condense well into three second conversations.
my sf bike was beautiful. when the shop man roller her out, with her mint handle bars, that was it. (the guy who sold it to me was real nice. he's from farther south than i am -- mexico city.) riding her home from the bike shop was one of the scarier things i've done in a while. up hill!
her name was beauty. we went everywhere together. i loved putting her on the front of buses when it got dark or i was too tired to hoof it up back to richmond. one night it rained, and we had to wait for a few buses to pass before one with space for both of us came. i loved her even more after that. she was mine, in the way that you want to be someone's sometimes.
she was a beast. fast, lightweight, low, gears that didn't crank up quite high enough, too short in the body, not enough room for foot clearance. we ate up pavement, and hills, and golden gate bridges. went on ferry rides. she would have liked to meet you.