And so it began...
When my fellow students studying abroad left in December, I was thrilled upon the news of one friend leaving me his bike. Wow, I thought, I can really see Rome in a new light on a bike. Life would be so great getting around on wheels despite my central location which makes walking to most places far from painful. But there are those longer journeys - I could get a little exercise, have a nice breeze in my hair, and begin convincing myself and everyone else on the sidewalk that I am more Italian than them. :)
I cannot forget the last night I saw the original bike owner: we were dancing in a big group at a nearby club, and he leaned over someone to say to me, "the bike is locked near the small fountain on the Borgo Pio". Before I knew it my hand was in the air intercepting the keys of what would be my future bike lock for my future bike for my future in Rome. I think my body stopped dancing as I, in a moment of bliss, smiled down at a ring with two small silver keys in my hand. Keys to unlock special adventures ahead. It was as if I had never received such a present, I felt rather unworthy. It was as if this bike found me because I never knew I could become so excited about such a thing. It was as if my knowledge of the prior possibility of purchasing a bike at the market for a small price was never knowledge at all. I was now a bike owner. (sidenote: being a bike owner doesn't require any special abilities or qualities... this could be anyone.)
Anyway, I was thrilled to start my new life as a bike owner. I honestly began to doubt whether I would ever find time to be with friends again. How would I get anything done because this bike would now define my situation in Rome? And the day I was to pick it up happened to be the same day I was moving into another apartment, how would I organize my schedule when this new bike, this new baby of mine, must be the focus of my day?
The sun was shining that Saturday as I bounced all the way to the Borgo Pio. The excitement built as I approached the small fountain from the street. And there it was: blue and a bit rusty, with a black checkered seat that looked much newer than the rest of it. There were spray covers over the tires and a light in the front hanging by a few wires. But the best features: the handle bar basket and bell. Quasi-asthetically pleasing, even if not all things matched up ... but this bike stood for more than looks.
Even with all the excitement for this new investment, the nervousness I felt before that first ride came over me. Which streets do I take? Will I make a fool of myself? Will I fall in front of everyone? If I was to see me riding down the street, would I say, that girl has no clue how to ride a bike? I covered all things to be nervous about.
I took off on the bike in the little square not occupied by more than four people. After five feet I quickly noticed the seat was loose as I slipped forward to the handlebars which seemed about at knee level because they were bent forward from being loose as well. The seat was too low, the brakes didn't work, and it wobbled all over. I said, "so this is what it's like to feel like a bear on a crumbling tricycle."
Talk about a huge dissappointment. I spent my first bike ride as a new bike owner looking like all of my prior nervousnesses. A fool. Falling all over. Looking lost. I rode it for about 10 blocks until I could lock it near the apartment which I would also be abandoning that day. Just that quickly, my thoughts of having to center my day around my new bike turned to 'I can't wait to sell this bike and forget it ever entered my life.'
And for two months, that was the plan. I spent my winter out and about, traveling, enjoying myself. It rained alot, however, and every few days I would remind myself, I should atleast chain it - that useless thing once known as a bike - in a new location (if it is even still there) or walk it to a bike shop.
February came quickly and I was moving into my current apartment. The first thing I noticed when I walk in the door is a little blue bike. Uh oh, little blue bike?! It found me? Then I saw the confident, untouchable name "Romeo" painted on the side of it. This little gem of a ride was sitting in the apartment as though it belonged there more than I did. His owner, Andrea, smiled so proud of her hotwheels. "L'ho costruita," she told me. Anyone who has the patience to build a bike is awesome in my book. "I use it all the time..." she then included. At this point I was debating whether or not I mention the fact that I owned one as well. Can I even say I own it anymore when I abandoned it with all of it's shortcomings?
Before long, the conversation turned to this: "Haley, you are a terrible bike owner. You would be lucky to find it all together because I'm sure it's parts were stolen." People steal bike parts? Just like that? Because it was parked on the street by it's unworthy owner, it will be robbed of its nice little basket, lights, bell. How could I do such a thing?!
I assured Andrea that I would no longer avoid via Pietro Cossa - the home of my bike for 2 months. Within a day, I visited my old apartment and peeked around the corner to find a bittersweet surprise: a lonely little bike with it's handlebar basket full of trash left by passerbys who understood it was abandoned. And bell? check. Lights? check. Two tires? check. phew.
I walked the bike three blocks, to cross the river Tiber, walked the crowded streets near piazza Navona and eventually made it home. Although I was receiving numerous 'why is she walking that, uh, that (is it a) bike?' looks, I was feeling relieved I had a second chance with the sad bicicletta in dire need of a fix up. "Ma che successo?" A man asked me. "ha rotto la sedia," I said with a smile back because what excuse do I give for this mangled bike. Saying that there was a broken seat seemed to only reflect back on its owner who clearly didn't know how to ride it.
Within a week, I found myself alongside Andrea walking our bikes out to a social center far away from our apartment. The over an hour walk brought us to the room for building bikes in which i had the seat tightened, handlebars tightened, and new brake pads added. Perhaps my bike wanted to get me back for prior harsh treatment because on the long ride home, the seat bent backwards and the brakes did nothing but squeak really loud.
In frustration, I left the bike parked in my bedroom for a couple weeks before I decided (by I, I mean Andrea) to find an actual bike repairman. After a 10 minute walk from my house I found Alessandro, a young guy working in a bikeshop who seemed happy to work on my rusty, dusty wheels. For 10 euro, I found almost a new bike! Stirdy seat, new brake wires so the bike would actually stop along with the obnoxiously squeeks. I was set, finally I had the bike I originally envisioned .
I was riding to and from school that day so proud. Despite the loud squeaks of the breaks so everyone within 30 feet knew I was stopping (because such a horrific noise could only come from a velociraptor of prehistoric times), and an unattached basket that bounced all around and the natural wobble that came from uncentered handlebars, I am aware that riding in the streets of Rome causes everyone to think I am a bad driver (but I promise the tires need a little air, and... and yeah). The bell would ding from just hitting a cobblestone wrong (something I used to be embarrassed about but now, I hardly notice it, and if someone else notices, I just smile as though they wish they had a bike that enjoyed dinging as much as mine.) Needless to say, if Andrea and suave Romeo are riding next to me, they laugh at the ridiculousness of the scene I happen to make.
Had I not met Andrea - or Romeo for the matter - I may not have seen the potential in such a hopeless bike. And I think Andrea has taught me, that maybe not everyone can be a bikeowner. Bikes have to cared for, taken to the bicycle doctors, given air regularly, etc. I guess most things can be fixable in one way or another. I found it is much more rewarding to make an old thing new than have all new things. While my seat will continue to bend backward occasionally, and show its rust to the rest of the neighborhood bikes, I am happy to know I had that bike I originally envisioned months ago when it's owner so willingly gave it to me. I knew I wasn't crazyin the begining... it was right before me this whole time, it was love! This bike is my newest love.
So Rome is a little different as I am getting to know its crazy streets on wheels. I should probably have a helmet for some of the dangers I am potentially putting myself in, but then it would take a whole lot more convincing to the others in the street that I can be Italian, too. I may be riding down many streets i have walked over and over... and riding past monuments I see on a regular bases and from several other angles.... but nothing beats rolling by the Vittorio Emmanuele monument towering over the city at night, to look up at it and say 'Hi monument' or 'Hi colosseum' and follow it with a little ding of my bell. All why rolling right on by at my own pace.
I like having something else to worry about here rather than speaking the language correctly or eating too many cannoli. I keep my fingers crossed that no one steals any pieces, especially the basket. Everytime i lock her to the post i find my self walking not even 10 feet away before I turn around to make sure all pieces are still there. And then after another 10 feet, another turn of the head.
Maybe that is how things come about, I may have had an infatuation with Rome as a whole when I arrived but certain day to day adventures, now made on my bike, have proven life in this city to have an everlasting lovable feeling.
Love should set you free, yeah? This bike definitely liberates me. (Did I mentionthe fact that it looks like my first childhood bike, only a little taller!) Oh, and by the way, her name is Giulietta.
