The Bicycle

I feel like we’ve started to overestimate the role of bicycles in our lives. It’s like, they’ve gone from being a simple mode of transportation to something like a household pet, or even a life partner. You know how people say a car can sometimes be like a woman to a man? I get that. There are cars out there that could seduce me into a committed relationship. But a bicycle as something sexy? Come on, that’s a stretch. Sure, I might glance at a sturdy frame now and then, but the pedals and the little bell? Sorry, that love story is just too ridiculous.

And then, there’s this whole other breed of bikes: the ‘ex’s bicycle.’ Stored forever, ideally in a basement, but often right in your living room as some sort of sacred art piece. A warm reminder of the times when you had sex.

Bicycles have become too meaningful, passed down through generations like Chinese vases, serving as significant gifts from father to son, reflecting the owner’s personality, echoing his deepest desires, whispering secrets in the dead of night. You find yourself effortlessly carrying it up to the fifth floor, lost in the sensuality of the absurd. You mount it on the wall as the centerpiece of your apartment’s decor. ‘This one’s really special to me,’ you say, showing off your chain-gang collection to your new girlfriend, not realizing that she's been gone for a long time, and you’ve been talking to yourself for the past five years.