Today I was reading Ikzalwelgekzijn, the blog of my good friend M., and I simply couldn’t resist translating this post so that non-Dutch-speakers could enjoy it too. Here it is:
My bike spent all of last month slowly but surely folding up its back wheel, and the last couple of days even included a measure of joyful tail-wagging. This morning I decided that this could go on no longer, that my fifteen-year-long-unstolen bike and I needed to part ways when I returned from my cornetto lesson. I planned to continue riding it while searching for a successor (because I’m that insensitive), and then trade it in. Possibly even for money.
But my bike is no fool, and immediately spat out a spoke once I got to the station – which then refused to let itself be dislodged, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.
This made the search a great deal less complicated: my new bicycle was waiting for me in the nearest shop (a bicycle parking shed). And indeed, there was, among the enormous quantity of new and fixed-up bicycles, exactly one that I wanted. Albeit for half what I wanted to pay, but insensitivity has its price.
The men from the bike shed even wanted to lower the seat for me, replace a nut, transfer my lock and recycle my old bike. The new one rides like a dream, speeds up and brakes and rings and the stand even works. And to top it all off, I found out when returning home from singing and drinking that the light works. Wait: That The Light Works. And suddenly I realised what a terrible burden it had been, using those little lights all the time, however much genius had gone into their design.
With retroactive effect, I hereby take leave without regret from my rattletrap, the jalopy, that thing that I always carelessly parked in the slums outside the station. My Bike Light Works! Well, for now, anyway.