Bikes are a necessity in Amsterdam. I'm no Lacey Armstrong, but I have fully enjoyed navigating the city and Vondelpark on pedal singing "Eerste tijd op het fiets!!" as loudly as possible. Dutch people usually look at me with disdain...and gradually fade to moderate acceptance.
For the past 2 weeks, I was riding a bike that had been passed down for four Boom generations. Three different bike shops told me various versions of "I won't touch that," "that's a danger to society," and "look at all that rust." While this is not the first time I've been told these things by handsome men, I was resistant to listen to their warnings. Bikes be pricey, y'know?
Yesterday, Chapman (the saint) and Lolu (wife-killa!!) accompanied to their friend's bike shop, "Too-Six." Owned by a friendly Chicago-native, I felt at home. We traded in my death trap in addition to another old boom actor's extra wheels for a trusty antique Gazelle. "It needs a bit of work, but it's much safer than what you were riding before," Bruce assured me as I skipped out of the tiny shop with my new ride. Things were looking up.
Unfortunately, on my way home from a crazy night with the HAWKs at Los Pilones (yummmmmmm) and a coffee shop (...I was there for the mandatory pear juice, mama...), MY FREAKING PEDAL FELL OFF.
I'm pissed. Bruce sold me a lemon. And for that he will pay. Or bake me a deep dish.
Now, I'm off to Albert Heijn to purchase some much-needed groceries to fill my tiny fridge before James gets back. On foot.
xo,
j
No comments:
Post a Comment