old blue buffalo skeleton

I should have known better than to not lock up my tires. Even in a sleepy town like Santa Barbara.
In New York I would keep my bike parked in front of the Y on 64th or so. All winter I'd just leave it locked up there. I drove by one time and I couldn't see it because it was completely covered in snow. I did that for four or five years.
One spring I arrived to find my back wheel stolen. Completely gone. Bandits with wrenches felt it was worth the work. I unlocked it and carried it to the subway.
I have this really great bike lock. I spent $200 on it. I splurged. It cost more than any bike I've ever owned. Its just thick and heavy and the links are square and fat. The lock itself is a mini Kryptonite lock. Its one of my favorite things. Its a meaty version of the locks my brother and I had as kids. We used to wear them over our shoulders like Chewbacca's utility belt.
When Peter and I got matching Schwinn Stingrays our parents took us to get bicycle licenses. The Downey PD would teach you how to lock your bike so it wouldn't get stolen. They had you run an obstacle course with yellow cones. They registered your bike and gave you a sticker license. We learned hand signals and other rules of the road. I didn't own a helmet and no one cared. I must have been in kid heaven because I remember that day clearly. I think I was in second grade.
Subsequently, I know how to lock up my bike. You run the chain through as much as possible. The frame is a must, the wheels should be locked as much as possible. If they are quick release, you need to take them off and lock them to your frame.
I really like my bike. Its like a bigger, oxidized version of my Stingray. Its completely rusty. The chain looks like its been out at sea. The handlebars have no trace of unrusted chrome and have a compass/bell on the right hand side. The tires are old and cracked and the spokes are so lumpy with rust that it hurts to touch them. I talked some guy in Venice down to sixty bucks for it. It looks like its worth about five. My prized lock and chain, which I wrap around the corroded seat post while riding, has been slowly chipping away at the frame.
The old bike rack, normal style, that was once at Victoria court was recently replaced by these new plastic coated bike poles that have pathetic little loops for your chain. They are situated in such a way that if you have a larger bike like me, you can't lock your frame and your front tire because your back tire would block the pathway. You also can't lock your frame and your back wheel because there is a bush right there. Other bikes block any other angle because those racks are freaking popular. I know I should be looping the chain through at least one wheel, but its not long enough. I am stuck locking my frame only, but its Santa Barbara and I'm not the only one on the rack doing that. There are mountain bikes with unlocked back wheels, BMX bikes with unlocked front wheels and other cruisers including Anna's with only the frame locked. Besides, the bolts that hold my wheels are so hoary that they are one with the nuts.
I had decided to take an emergency trip up north to see my dad because things were looking really bad. For some reason, I didn't want to leave my bike at the Victoria court bike poles so I walked down to get it. As I turned the corner to Video Shmideo I saw the bike line up. Mine was locked on the same pole as Anna's. Hers looked all shiny and new. All the other bikes were doing great. Mine was crusty, blue with barely noticeable white stripes, a black springy seat, and now without wheels. Like a skeleton of a buffalo on its knees...but blue. I picked it up and carried it home.
At the corner, Dave stood drinking coffee with a friend. I told Dave the story, he questioned my motives for not locking the wheels. I told him that the theives must have brought a lot of WD40 because those bolts were frozen shut with crusty decay. He told me about how he wanted to go see the new George Clooney movie but no one had told him it was any good. He also told me I could have the wheels to his bike.
There is a catch though. Dave loves my bike chain. He's moving to Hawaii some day and has been collecting for it since we moved to town. He's bought tables, cables, ropes, ladders, cases and french presses for the big move. My chain, he says, would be perfect for hooking stuff up to his Jeep. He spotted it a while back and I wouldn't trade him for anything. I think he's been losing sleep over it.
So I can get wheels for my bike, in fact, he said he'd give me his whole bike, plus a lock and cable for my lock and chain. Now I am up in Marina and we have been planning my dads funeral. Big stuff like going through a million papers of minutia and trying to figure out passwords on his computers to download old articles he's written. Meanwhile, I am really having a hard time deciding whether or not to trade my bike chain to Dave.

Pressure

Pressure for blogging. Today I am less likely to blog than yesterday, and yet here I am today blogging. I can't believe its been a month and a day since I last did this. Its coming sooo easily.