Bicycle, Bicycle... I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike...

In the winter of 2012 I sat in my dining room table and cried. Big drops splashing on the table top as I described one of my loves in detail, which was now missing, to the police. My red and white Schwinn had be stolen from our back yard. It wasn't so much that I was sad about the bike (don't get my wrong I was) but I was furious that someone had gone through our gate and taken it. So, I cried. 

Feeling violated and pissed off, I made myself feel better by telling myself that, living in a city infamous for bike theft, it was only a matter of time before it got stolen. But damn I loved that bike.

Imagine how quickly my head whipped around when I walked past our friends' house a few days ago and saw my beautiful bicyclette propped up against the garage door! After a few emails we discovered my bike had been ditched on their neighbours yard. The police wouldn't come get it so they gave it to my friend.  

 I know I should be super grateful and excited I got my bike back. I am. What are the chances, seriously!? I'm a little annoyed, however; at the guy who found it and was too lazy to take a super nice bike to the cop shop (a 3 min drive away) in hopes of someone being reunited with their long lost love...

...

... okay okay, I'm taking a breath and letting it out.

And now I'm stoked to have my bike back.