Why can't I breathe, whenever I think about you?

This is not a blog, it is a story of a boy and a bike. Well, more like a boy and his journey to create his dream bike. The story begins one fine May morning, nearly 4 months ago...

I knew I needed a bike for my job in Philadelphia and my fellowship gave me 300 dollars to go buy one, so of course I was excited. I went to a used bike shop called Firehouse bikes in West Philadelphia and perused the selection. I made sure to take my friend Annie who actually knew something about bikes and would keep me from getting the flashiest one for the sheer beauty and brightness of it. She proved her worth when we walked in the door and I instantly walked over to a bright, lime green road bike that was 650 dollars. Annie grabbed me by the neck and took me to the bikes that ranged around 300-400 dollars and helped me to pick out a functional bike. I settled on a maroon Ross signature for 385 US American dollar bills. While I loved my new bike, in the back of my mind I yearned for something more flashy and colorful to match my rainbow personality.

3 months later, I was helping my friend try out bikes at Firehouse and I came across a beautiful, brand new 1985 Peugeot. It had been lying in parts in a box for over 30 years before being put together and finding its way onto the floor of Firehouse bikes. I was immediately drawn to the rainbow coloring, smooth finish and surreal ride of this French beautfy. But I had my trusty Ross, now nicknamed Pacha Mama, and I couldn't just abandon her. Or could I? I tried to bargain with the owner of the shop to trade in my old bike for this new one, but the odds were simply not in my favor. I would have had to shell out another 250 dollars! Plus, I loved my old bike, and we had already been through so much together. So I left, somewhat downtrodden. I think Pacha Mama felt neglected and unloved, she just didn't ride the same after that.


For the next few weeks, I rode my trusty bike all around Philly--though every night in my dreams, I betrayed her love by riding another. One night I couldn't sleep so I began searching on craigslist for any little french cuties. Then I saw her, an old 1970s peugeot, bruised and broken but still with a spark.
She was an old girl, in need of a whole lot of love, but I was ready and willing to commit. I would clean her up, replace her beat up, outdated parts, and make her the bike of my dreams. And so, my journey began...