This evening the “Leri” started to creak, and while I came home and thought about her, and how much I love my bike. Yes, I thought every time cycling made me happy.
Marivì donated Leri to me at Christmas 2007. I remember I came home with a big smile and ribbons attached to the handlebars that floating in the air.
Once, a boyfriend took me for a couple of miles on the barrel, and while we were whispering words full of love, an old man shouted o us, smiling: “Even I was carrying my wife like you guys when we were still in engaged!“.
I remember I learned to ride thanks to my grandfather and I fell just once in my life about two months ago, trying to climb a curb too high (a rowdy who didn’t appear when I was six – yes, I learned cycling later – is emerged now).
I hurt myself just once when I was little: I was seating on my dad’s bike we fell because I had accidentally put one of my foot in the spokes.
I remember one time we were three fruends on a bike and we barely managed to stay balanced laughing so much, getting beeps and ringing of sympathy from the drivers. Poor bike.
I remember the first time I cycled with no hands it was downhill. Dangerous.
Once I rode hand in hand with a lover and another time I came home crying so much that the tears ended up in my ears.
The bike makes me independent, my bike suggest me alternative routes. Allows me to observe the colour and smell the scents and the smells of my Milan, to remember the names of streets and connect my memories.
My bike is always with me, holds me back sometimes. I get with her the groceries, I ride beside a friend who jogging, I cross the city to meet someone through pedestrians and cars, singing and swearing.
The bike is for all seasons, especially in spring when thousands of bells populate the city and bloom cycle paths, strokes illegally on the busiest streets.
Give me a bike and I’ll be happy… lost, but happy.
What is your best memory (or post) about bicycle?