Today started like any other day. Breakfast was enjoyed, clothes worn, things put in the bag. But bike would not start - the wheels could not roll. It was like a bird who hurt its wings, deprived of the simple pleasure of normality from flying. Someone had kicked the backwheel, and as the force pushed it the front wheel held firm to its post and was simultaneously bent.

After class, Bear helped me to bring my bike to the bikeshop. He examined the tires and predicted grimly. We tried nonetheless. Throughout the journey the wheels made the most heartbreakingly soft sound. It made me really worried. It was as if it was dying, lying there on its deathbed in silent suffering.

The verdict was final - Bikeguy confirmed Bear's belief. It will be too costly to repair - and even he advised against it. "It's not worth it," he assured us.

Bear looked at me sincerely and asked whether we should take it home and call someone to bring it to the bikegarbage, or should we release it into the wild unlocked and let it be stolen.

I swallowed hard. I would prefer to bring it home, yet the looming thought of it being shoven into a cage filled with broken bikes, waiting to be destroyed prevents me from deciding for it. If it would be left unlocked, some junkie will take it home, probably fix it and sell it to another student, giving it some more years.

The irony that I too had bought it from a junkie for 50bucks.

Bear stripped the flower bag off the back saddle, and chose a quiet neighborhood and unlocked it. I stood further away, watching Bear watch me and pat it goodbye. My eyes felt warm. I realized how heart broken I was seeing this bike which had been with me for almost 3 years, for as long as I have been living here in NL.

:(

I guess that is life - you get dependent on something, and the next thing you know randomly a stranger just comes along and kick it beyond repair.