I received an email this morning-- the first one that I read-- relaying that the first floor guys' bikes were stolen out of the basement. As I had my bike stored down there also and needed to do my laundry, I gathered my dirty clothes and headed down quickly. When I turned the corner and looked, where my bike had previously rested, it was no longer. I set my basket down and tore my clothes putting on sackcloth and ashes. I do admit to shedding a tear for my stolen bike.
Some of you may scoff and think, who cries over a stinking bike? Beyond the monetary loss, it held many memories for me. After my first bike that I had in college was stolen, I worked over the next summer and saved up enough to be able to purchase my Sugar. I logged many hours and miles on that baby. It was my primary escape when I was in college. It went with me to Colorado and carried me to and from work. I flew over the handle bars many times. But she treated me good. Her plush hindquarters allowed me to fly over rocks and roots with ease. I bombed down major sections of trail and she carried me to victory over my friends multiple times.
Since getting to Chicago, I've only ridden her a handful of times, but I always kept her by my side, knowing that some day I would have the opportunity to get her back out on some respectable terrain. And so in memory of my Sugar, I present the following montage. All the photos were taken in Manhattan, Ks my last semester at K-State, when Michael and Steve came to visit and I attempted "the jump." Steve, the cameraman, cut my head off in my second to last attempt, and encouraged my to do it "one more time." In the last photo, you can see the result of the "one more time." Good times, Sugar. Good times.
