Update, 11/24: She's gone. I'm not even sure why it matters enough to write about. I mean, it's just a bike. But as anybody who spends time with old stuff knows... these bits of metal and plastic accumulate more than rust and scratches over the years. They grow soul.
Soul, whether belonging to man or machine, is not some kind of divine gift received at birth. It is the accumulation of time and experience. It's your first love, and (probably much later) the love that's forever. Soul is the playground fight you got into in the 5th grade (and then again in 7th, and uhh... let's not talk about years 21-28). It is also the voice that keeps you out of a fight now.
For a bike, soul is built as miles disappear beneath the tires. It's joy on Christmas morning, garden hose washings, and even the months of neglect out in dad's garage. This bike had soul in spades, and it showed over every square inch (if you took the time to look).
So while it's tough to say goodbye to an old friend, comfort comes in knowing that I nurtured an old soul. My mom, keeper of a million such living objects, will appreciate this closing statement...
It's not just stuff.
1 comment:
My pedal-pushing poet,
There is this to comfort you as you say farewell to your old friend: even as we run out of real-time space for the beloved souvenirs of life and the stories that make them dear, they stay in the dusty attics of our memory and we can unpack them and love them still. Now, where did I put that 53 Chevy... here it is, right behind those Green Bobo pants my boy refused to wear.
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