When I walked outside at 8:15 this morning, ready for my day, showered, make-up, prepared for my lessons and meetings, I went to the bike parking area in front of my building only to find my locks cut and lying on the ground, like forlorn cast-offs, mangled and pitiful in the gutter.
This bike has been with me 7 long years. I've had it longer than I've known Thomas.
It is a sad, sad day for me. Not to mention that my whole way of functioning, working, making the logistics of my day and my daughter's day happen depended on that bike.
People seemed surprised that I got upset, that I had some tears. Those are people who have never had their bike be their right arm. This bike is my car, my access to everything, work, options - freedom.
This bike took me to job interviews, to hockey games, a thousand trips back and forth to the university for 3 years. It took me out to bars, to dates with Thomas, it took me to try on wedding dresses, to my pre-Cana classes, to ultrasound appointments, to the theater, to the movies. It took me to teach all over this city, from the hills to the beach to the airport to all the various campuses of the university that I have worked at. It has taken me to homes for private lessons, to the train station. It has taken Thomas to get his hair cut, to get new glasses, has taken me to the gym and yoga. It had a top-of-the-line seat for a kid and a brand-new basket on the front, a mother's day gift.
It has taken Estelle all over for well over a year now and she has loved every second of it. And back in the day, Thomas pedaled standing up while I sat on the seat, legs splayed behind, laughing on the way home from a night out.
I walked to my guys at the bike shop, stepped in and looked Francois in the eye and said "My ride was stolen last night." Everyone in the shop stopped and sighed, shook their head, paused for a few seconds, and carried on. They took my details, they're gonna hook me up hopefully soon.
But now someone else has it, and it is amazing how much it bothers me. I just stood on the sidewalk in shock this morning, holding the pieces of the locks, like a kid. I literally thought to myself "But I didn't say goodbye!" Such is life.
I hate to think of it out there, being taken apart, covering up the hockey stickers, stripping off the basket so it won't be the same bike.
I have faith that God, or some higher power, or at the very least my Dad, is gonna do something very very mean to the guy who has separated me from my old friend, my bike.
