So there I was this past Friday, about 10 miles from home and riding through the suburbs at a steady clip, when I caught a glimpse of something in my periparel periferal side vision and made an abrupt u-turn, causing a multi-vehicle pile-up in the process. OK, I’m lying about the pile-up, but I did make a u-turn. Because what I saw was a sign bearing the following words:
FREE BIKE
And the bike to which it was attached was this one:
As I dismounted my A. Hamish Hildegaard, I immediately noticed the crabon tubes and the Shimano 600 parts, and despite the bike’s diminutive size my first thought was, “How do I get it home?” Public transportation seemed like more of a hassle than the bike was worth (to me, anyway). But I was close to the South County Trailway, which is flat and straight and takes me all the way home, so I figured I’d just try to wheel the bike alongside me, like this:
The Internet seems to call this “ghostriding,” but when I was a kid the act of ghostriding was when you’d get your bike rolling really fast then jump off it and watch it ride away by itself until it hit the curb and flip over or something.
Why we did this I have no idea, though it left my battering ram of a Schwinn Scrambler none the worse for wear.
Deploying the kickstand of of my own bike with a deft flick of the toe, I leaned the Hilderstein upon said kickstand, sauntered over to the FREE BIKE, and made a quick inspection. However, I found that there was too much friction in the rusty hubs for my plan to be feasible. So I figured it was best to just leave it be and continue with my ride, and I soon forgot all about it.
But the next day I found myself riding by the same spot, and sure enough the bike was still there. Now it was raining, and some of those parts were pretty decent, so it seemed like a shame let it just sit there getting even rustier. I decided to come back later with THE CAR THAT I OWN, though as the day went on that proved to be impractical, so I let it go and forgot about it once again.
Then yesterday morning as I rode I remembered the bike again and I thought to myself, “That’s it. If it’s still there I’m definitely coming back for it.” Fortunately, it was gone. Because the last thing I need is a too-small Univega.
But this is how it works when you’re a terminal bike dork. “That tiny Univega has a pretty decent headset, maybe I’ll build a whole new bike around it!” Then when the bike’s not there, instead of moving on, you start looking at old carbon and aluminum bikes on eBay:
I have a pair of 9-speed Dura-Ace shifters that would be perfect for that!
Seriously though, what the hell’s the matter with me? Why am I even stopping for rusty old plastic Univegas while I’m riding this?
And yes, those are TOE CLIPS on there. What can I say? As I mentioned, the Homer feels surprisingly fast, and so I felt like trying it with some foot retention, but putting clipless pedals on it offended my sensibilities (something about clipless pedals and a kickstand on the same bike just weirds me out), and so I used toe clips instead, even though they’re stupid.
And yet I have no problem using clipless pedals and an ugly outboard bearing crank on the Roadini, go figure:
Yeah, that’s right, I have a Homer and a Roadini and I rode the both this weekend and yet I still thought about taking that Univega.
It’s like a disease.