wingolog

I came down the stairs this morning -- pants cuffed, helmet on, cross strap buckled -- and sauntered around the corner to unlock my bike, but alas, it was not there. Last night they stole my bike.

I knew it would happen some day. Bikes are on loan to us from God, who works in mysterious ways indeed. But I didn't think it would happen this way.

See, I had a dinner on my terrace last weekend. In a fit of silliness, when people would come to the door, I'd just drop them my keys off the side of the balcony. Amusement for all!

But when I went to lock up my bike yesterday evening at a restaurant -- it had spent the weekend in the office -- of course it was the bike lock key that broke in the weekend's antics, and I hadn't noticed it.

Luckily I had the wee cable lock that ran through my seatpost, so I crossed my fingers and used that instead. So it was with pleasure that, leaving the restaurant, I found that my bike was still there.

We had a great ride last night, me and the bike. We hit all the lights, and beat the metro back to my house by 10 minutes. I figured it would last one more evening out with the wee lock, in my relatively calm neighborhood, but no, it was not to be.

So farewell, Amat Ciutat, my friend. We hardly knew ye.