We Went for Bikes

I should probably learn to be a little more skeptical of the words 'amazing hot-mumma bikes' and 'twenty five dollars' when thrown together in the one sentence, but I was just so gosh-darn excited at the prospect of a new set of wheels (with a bonus helmet) that I was blinded to all other reasoning. I've been lusting after a bike since moving away from home. The days of riding a little recklessly with no helmet, and trawling the streets of the hometown in the late evening when neighbourhood souls turn on their fairy lights seem synonymous with the summertime, the delicious heat that radiates from the road and sticks in the air feels better when you're riding that old bike you scrounged from a roadside throw-out. 
Ignoring the pending winter and the burgeoning need to find clothes that warm my kidneys, I thought a bike would be, well, pretty much the bees knees.

The hour long car trip there did nothing to dampen my spirits. Even the pouring rain and inability to see further than 20 metres ahead didn't wet said spirits. The kids in front were talking about roads and maps and turn offs to get to the destination - while I sat in the back and thought about spray paint and spokey-dokes.
Arriving at the Cycling Centre, I nearly fainted with delight at the charming bikes en masse. They were everywhere. I counted ten that I loved immediately and wanted to take home with me at once. The yellow-vested gentleman informed me that 'those ones are not for sale' and proceeded to lead us to the shipping container with the 'real bikes'. Full of late 80's goodness, very BMX bandits, and created for the more gazelle-like creatures amongst us - nothing Megan sized, and nothing in a shade of pretty. It was all fluro and chrome and Huffy and mountain bikes, and my hopes were beginning to fade.
Mamy found a bike, a red-racer that is destined for hill zooming. Encouraged by the yellow-vested sir to 'straddle it and have a feel', I think the purchase may have been more a result of not wanting to leave empty handed lest the safety-vest folk thought we were time wasters.
I think I was scowling by this point. Disappointed that I wasn't allowed one of the shiny-fun-girl bikes, and annoyed at my legs for not growing just that extra bit more.

I tried to suggest they sell me one of the other bikes... I wouldn't tell anyone that they were unfit for riding or in violation of safety regulations. I wouldn't even care if it didn't have pedals. I was all about the aesthetics. And when it's a pink and white bike named Raleigh and straight from England in the 1960's... oh my. Apparently it's illegal.  I contemplated theft and leaving a donation... but it may have been difficult to smuggle a bike home.

Adding a little bit of insult to injury, out the front of uni the following day was a replica of my bike from home. In a fun shade of cherry red and gleaming in the sunlight, the Apollo sticker smiling at passers by. Thoughts of thievery flashed into mind again...

If a girl wants to buy a bike, you sell her a bike, dammit. Whenever will you yellow-vested men learn?

Keep on dancing.