Wistful Thinking, 2008 edition

I’ve tried to avoid too much attachment to the objects in my life these days. There are constants like the Panda and…well, mostly just the Panda. Things have been whittled down in my life to the point where there’s not much that I couldn’t get rid of with a little arm twisting. Tonight I sold my venerable yellow Giant road bike frame. It was a 56cm aluminum frame with a carbon fork - the opposite of the steel horse I ride now - and was a fantastic bike for the year and a half I rode it. I still remember trekking up to Napa with Travis, sitting in the parking lot of an OSH to pick it up. I was so fucking stoked. Then I realized I had to get a bottom bracket, derailleurs, cranks, etc etc. And I was still stoked. I still remember (fondly) the day I got the brakes dialed in and took off down the hill where Fillmore passes Oak on it’s way down to Haight; about halfway down I found out the hard way about the proper tightening of the bolts that clamp down on your handlebars. Some bruised testicles and a near-death experience later I dragged my ass up the hill, tightened some bolts and kept at it. I found some Shimano 600 STIs at Pedal Rev and continued working on it at the Bike Kitchen (pre-move, in the Mission). I got some sweetass Sora calipers for Christmas. I love riding that thing.

Then I got hit by a car on it. I rarely road it after that. I’ll admit that I was scared. I stripped it down and carted it with me when I ended up moving to Oakland last year. It sat in our garage until I realized that I was probably never going to use it again. So I put it on Craiglist for about 100 dollars under what I should sell it for two days ago. As of about 8:15pm today the yellow Giant banana bike was no longer mine.

I’ve rarely found myself conflicted about moving out of 500 Fillmore. It was dirty, I was working in Oakland and spending 90% of my time here and it just made sense. However, now Sean’s got himself a new apartment to move into next weekend and Travis and I are planning our sojourn back east where he can go to graduate school in Michigan. I couldn’t help but be a little sad seeing a 16 year-old with braces take away one of my souvenirs of the time we spent together at Oak and Fillmore. He doesn’t understand the hilarity of riding through the Mission on your mountain bike from when you were 16 with half a bike strapped to your back, figuring out how to build the damned thing as you went along (making most of it up). It was a lot fun, a bit dangerous and damned carefree.

Sigh.

Change is a bummer.