A tribute to my bicycle... Nov 2004- August 2005

There she is, Pamela, in all her splendor. She faithfully carried my two bowling balls for 9 months, despite having off-kilter steering, a buckled basket and horrible brakes. If that isn't the best pregnancy metaphor in history, I don't know what is...

We had a crash, Pamela and I, in late November... I was cycling home and didn't see the black chain that some fucker had put between darkened posts. Her basket was crushed, her steering worsened even more and from that point, any attempt to ride on to a curb that wasn't at a perfect right angle sent the back wheel fishtailing out like some speedway bike incarnate.

In the early doors of 2005 I accidentally let my headphones get wrapped up in her chain and cog mechanism. She was never quite the same after that. There would be weeks of easy riding and then suddenly a juddering stop in the centre of a pavement.

Dear Pamela was stolen a week ago by who knows who... someone who wanted a broken down, rusting, limping, deformed grandma bike I guess. That they cut the lock to gain their inefficient transport beggars belief. I now have a new bike, but there are no stickers on the frame that say Pamela, and the steering is almost too good. The basket is even and there isn't a jot of rust. It's just not the same.