My bike, my bike, I want my bike!

It’s been two weeks since I rode my sweet, one-month-old bicycle to the S-bahn station and hurriedly locked her up to the iron railing at the top of the stairs, rushing along so I could purchase my ticket and not miss my train. It’s also been two weeks since I returned to my stop in Rissen and trudged up the stairs to be greeted by only my bike lock coiled around the iron railing. My reaction:

It had been probably 20 years since I’d even had a bicycle of my own to use on a regular basis. The only other one I’ve ever had was lavendar, had teddy bears and heart decals on the frame, and was later outfitted with so many plastic “spokey dokeys” you could barely see anything else on my wheels. Plus since they made a lot of noise when the wheels spun, I could kiss my stealth mode goodbye. The same sense of freedom afforded to me as a child on the loose in the summertime was granted to me for the one month I had my beloved. *sniff*

I have to admit that riding that bike did make me feel more like I belonged in Hamburg. My “Hallo”s and “danke”s don’t always (but in most cases) call attention to the fact that I don’t fit in, but at least riding on my bike I could mingle about undetected as a foreigner. Plus, it made doing errands a cinch. So it is with a heavy heart that I mourn not only the loss of my bike, but the loss of that carefree feeling.

At least until I get a replacement.