Ending a bike

As some of you are aware, I never intended to spend two years living in New Zealand. Yet a carefree ‘why not ?’ easily turned one month into six months. And by the time I realized why not I was in over my head and it only made sense to stay just a little longer, and then a little longer still.

I initially figured that I could temporarily make do with a clumsy, beater-bike that bore the optimistic label ‘Black Thunder’ on the crossbar. I named her Trisha and got used to her, but she was never any match for the bike I’d left at home. Since ‘I wasn’t going to be in Wellington that much longer’ it never made sense to upgrade. She did the job as I heffed her up and down Wellington for longer than I had planned.

As I was finally leaving New Zealand, I had to try and figure out what to do with her. It would be difficult to sell her.  She had some problems. The back wheel was a bit warped from the time I got caught in a sewer grate. The impractical front suspension was rusted. But she was still rideable. Or she was until my the last weekend. I left her locked up on Willis St. one night that I was too tired to ride up home and she had a particularly violent encounter with what I can only imagine to be a entire rugby team with cricket bats. The details of the incident will remain unknown however the altercation left her immobile.

So what could I do with her now that I was actually leaving town? My plan was to unlock her and leave her at the bike rack next to the abandoned pair of ice skates (see photo). I happily imagined her adopted by someone who needed a bike or an ambitious type wanting to try their hand at bike repair. My daydreams ground to a halt when my flatmates said they wanted her. I let them have her but was secretly disappointed knowing how the story ends.