It Better Not Have Been Some Kid's Christmas Present

I think I take sick pleasure in misery. It's the only reasonable explanation of why I won't leave the midwest. At the moment, it's nearing the end of March and it's sunny and 45 degrees outside my window. Obviously the weather is turning and it's clear sailing from here right? Tomorrow's forecast: Snow. This only furthers my belief that God has a bad sense of humor. But that doesn't stop me. I know summer is almost here. It's so close. The early signs are out. Grass is starting to grow. Birds are starting to chirp. Girls are wearing clothes that cover less than 25% of their body on random great days (As a single bitter guy, I'll speak on behalf of all of us that we approve). But summer used to reunite me one good friend. But that friend is now MIA. And if karma is real, he likely ended up underneath a Christmas tree.

Reflect back to the time you learned to ride a bike. If you never had such an experience and you're over the age of six, then congratulations, you're a failure at life. However, most of look back and generally have a fun wipe out to tell about. I went over the curb and slightly down a hill. I likely cried like a bitch. I was six, give me a break. Okay maybe that is kind of girly, but still. Anyways, as soon as the art of riding on two wheels became second nature, biking was an everyday event for me.

But as I got older, all the way up to my massive nine year old physique of like 4 feet 70 lbs, I had my eyes set on a real mountain bike. I saved and saved my money. Christmas, birthday, change off the money Rick gave me to go to the concession stand, anything I could get my hands on went straight into my badass coca cola shaped piggy bank. Finally the magic day happened. I tallied up three hundred dollars. Now three hundred dollars today means about five trips to the casino, but back then, I felt like Bill Gates and the world was mine to buy.

I walked out of Penn Cycle later that day with a beautiful 21 speed Trek bike. And I could not have had better timing. That very summer, I began making my daily voyage over to backyard of the Voldness house for countless games of backyard baseball. And when I say daily, I literally mean every day. Two miles there, and two miles back. By age 13, I was like a mini Lance Armstrong with both testicles. I have the calves to prove it too. Looking back, I feel its safe to say I put close to a thousand miles in that bike from age 10-15. I remember every route I took through the streets, sidewalks, and trails vividly. I loved that bike as much as I could. I wouldn't have given it up for anything.

Well until the Caddy showed up. Obviously at age 16 I became to cool for my bike. Granted it still had its cameos in my life. In fact, the bike was a two time team triathalon winner. I feel its last moments were some of its finest. However, as 2008 rolled around, there was never a real reason to take the bike out. But then redemption came. The Caddy was to be shelved in the drive way as I went to the University of Iowa, but I still wanted wheels. The bike was coming with me.

After so much wear and tear over the years, Rick was kind enough to pay for a tune up and a new seat. The thing felt brand new. I was excited. The first two weeks of school, I found numerous minor reasons to ride it around. But then I got lazy. I chose to walk for about a week straight. However, on a faithful Monday night, I felt the bike was the best choice of transportation. I went down to the racks where I left it last and found nothing. I was confused at first. No possible way my bike could have been stolen? I had it chained up and everything. I figured I must have the wrong spot. I looked everywhere. I walked to every single spot I could have thought of. Till eventually the realization hit me. Some person actually took the time to clip my lock and take my bike. Touche to you sir. If you have ever seen The Big Lebowski, please think of the scene where The Dude's car got stolen. That was my expression exactly. All I needed was for my phone to start ringing and have Donny point it out to me in order to complete the scene.

I made calls in frustration to family and friends. I mostly got laughter back. My brother Al was kind enough to tell me about how he stole three bikes in college. I didn't see the humor in it as I was in mourning of my missing friend. Some suggested I call the police, but seriously, do you think the police really care about my bike? I sure as hell wouldn't as a cop. I'd be be much more consumed with hassling innocent people on the 15th of the month.

So a part of my childhood is gone forever, and a little joy in summer is gone as well. If you ever heard some of my jokes, you may understand why I think karma plays a part in this happening to me. However, since I came back to second semester, the Cadillac has come with. I'll keep my fingers crossed that my other set wheels doesn't get stolen too. I don't think I can stomach another missing friend.