Once upon a time there was a little girl. She learned to ride a bike (slowly) and when she grew up she still liked cycling.
That little girl was me.
Now I’m a whole lot older, even if not that much bigger.
When I started work, I lived in a house half an hour’s walk away from the workshop. Someone told me about the annual bike-sale in the town; I went, saw and conquered and came away with the most amazing bike ever.
That’s all history.
My bike was stolen in June last year.
I was not amused.
I moped and refused to think about getting a replacement.
A long while later, I was asked if I cycled; “I used to..” I said, and told him the sad tale.
Shortly afterwards, [practically] on my birthday, I received an answerphone message offering me a bike. She’d bought one recently and got too ill to ride it anymore. She had wanted to donate it to the church jumble sale, but since she’d heard mine had been stolen, she felt it would be more sensible to give it to me instead.
Who turns down that kind of offer??
After dropping my parents and brother at the airport, I went to fetch it and brought it home.
And felt incredibly guilty.
I just couldn’t manage to be as grateful as I knew I ought to be.
It’s not that I usually spend my time looking in horses mouths, but this horse had an attractive tongue..
I’d just been given an almost brand-new bike…
…and I didn’t like it.
It was the sort of bike that stops if you pedal backwards.
Other than that it was pretty cool.
But it was enough for me not to want it. That and the knowledge that somewhere out there, someone was still happily riding MY bike.
It sat, or ‘stood’ if you’re a fussy German person, in my hall since then. I kept meaning to take it out for a ride and to get myself used to the stoopid brake-system, but I never got round to it. It was too icy, too cold, too windy, too wet, too dark, there was too much snow, I was too tired, I had to go out soon, I’d just got back and it was late… etc etc etc.
The days turned to weeks, the weeks turned to months, and the months were threatening to turn into a year. The more I didn’t ride it, the more I didn’t want to and the more guilty I felt about my ungratefulness.
Then, last week, one of my Hauskreis ladies asked us what we knew about the bike-exchange. We all emparted out assorted wisdom on her, and asked her why she wanted to know. Turns out her bike had just been written off, and she was on the lookout for a new one…
… one with backward-pedalling brakes.
Wow – seems people actually WANT the things.. I was astounded
As soon as I could speak, I immediately offered her mine and they all stared at me as if I’d turned into a buffalo.
I explained and they stopped staring and we arranged for her to come over on Saturday (with breakfast) and look at it, and maybe/probably pick it up. Then we would go to the Bike-Exchange and choose a bike for me.
And that’s what we did. I spent the morning tidying my house so they could have breakfast with me. When they came they brought breadbuns, but had already eaten and wanted to get on with their day. I put the buns onto the freshly washed sideboard and wheeled the bike out for inspection. She loved it and it was duly packed into the car.
I followed it in and we were off to the bike-exchange.
3 drizzly hours later I was the proud, if slightly soggy, owner of a ‘new’ bike.
The best part of it was that the pedals were there for pedalling and not for braking 🙂