It was quite a cool bike, with its fat tires and coaster brake. Of course the chain and wheel rims were still pretty rusty. I hadn't cleaned them in the six or ten months or whatever since the afternoon I had pedaled past it standing somewhat forlornly on that curb in Wallingford, next to a recycle bin, waiting, I surmised, for a trip the next day to some scrap metal melting pot on the industrial side of town. I'm sure I would never have stopped to beg for its life had the woman not been standing right there doing something to her lawn. Well, that's putting a little edge on it. All I did really, was ask. The woman was happy to give it up along with a little, slightly prideful, mention of its history at Burning Man http://www.burningman.com/whatisburningman/. The corroded chrome on the handlebars and squiggly hand painted markings on the fenders lent credibility to her claim. I reflected, a little sadly, on what the passing of a few years and living in a nice bungalow in a yuppie neighborhood could do to a one time sojourner in the Nevada desert in late August. But who am I to judge. My first trip to Burning Man still lies before me. So I went back later with my minivan and fetched the bike home.
I can't recall if my ultimate use for it was already formed in my mind or if I was just grabbing a somewhat classic velocipede. In any case I did use it, along with a couple like models, to advertise a condominium we wanted to sell. Now, the condo itself is a classic. Built in 1929, it features leaded stained glass windows, coved ceilings, and a sweet faux fireplace with colored glass coals shimmering on a grate over an electric bulb. Distaining the services of professional realtors, I created a website describing the property, and on my vintage bicycles I placed signage inviting interested passers by to the website. Then I put the bikes out on the street and in some parks where I thought there might be potential buyers. Every few days I moved them around.
That's where he saw it - the beloved conveyance he had taken to Burning Man six times and planned to take a seventh, until his landlady, thinking it was worn out, put it out for the recycle guys. That irretrievably hopeless loss months prior was suddenly standing there beside his route with a sign on it - Oh how convenient! - telling how to contact the guy with the key to the lock thereon. And so he called this PM and offered money for his bike. And the final lovely coincidence is that just four days earlier we had signed the purchase and sale agreement for the condo, that brought to an end the brief, but successful advertising career of a certain late forties, blue girls' Schwin.
I think I'll go put on a little Crosby, Stills and Nash, eat some brownies and try to remember 1972. It's legal now in Washington you know,
