The Raleigh Twenty was my bicycle in high school. Now that I think about it, it was my first bike. The first one that wasn't a hand me down or something I shared. Though, everything in our house was community property for the most part, and things I was given by my father turned out to end up being his, or other peoples later when he thought them unsuitable for me at some point (have I told the story of my first car? Remind me to tell you the story of the first car.) So, when I was not interested in this bike anymore, and he had brought home the more fashionable beach cruiser for my younger sister and I to ride, this was just sort of absorbed into his collection.
His friend Leann was...having a yard sale? Had just acquired more collectibles? I don't recall...I remember standing in her front yard, of the lovely little house she rented on 10th and...Pearl-ish area of Santa Monica and my father loving this bike. Trying to talk her into parting with it, he said "Sydney needs a bike!" She asked if I did, and did I like this one. I said yes, to both questions. I really did like the bike. I really did hope it was going to be mine, and not a thing he was telling other people was for me, but was really for him. (This was never intentional really, things just mattered more to my dad than most people and so if you were not interested he would say you were so he could get something, or if you lost interest in it he wold save it from the trash. Everything had a use and a meaning to him.)
The bike was mine throughout junior high and high school. My sisters were not interested, he had many bikes, all used and rusted; but this one was always so charming. It had so much more personality than the others. After the beach cruiser became more practical I lost track of this bike, it went into his Santa Monica storage, then moved to Culver City storage, and when he passed away I reclaimed it. Leann asked if I still had it, and I kept it, either for her or I to restore and ride. It has now been 4 years. I am pairing down my things, trying to totally liberate myself from the clutter and chaos in my apartment, and I am just not going to restore this bike. I have to let it go.
I have known this for, I don't know...a year? I am not totally sure why it came with us when we moved in May 2012. The lady that lived upstairs from us in Palms asked if I was willing to sell it, and it didn't feel right. That's the only way I know how to explain holding onto this thing for 4 years. It never felt right to let it go. For a month I have tried to motivate myself to post the thing on craigslist, it's been hot, I've been busy. For whatever reason I got out and did it Sunday.
Then, I panicked. I have to let it go. I could hear my father say the price I was asking was too low, it's an antique! It's worth money! But, it's very rusted...if it is going to get restored, you can't sell too high. Crap...I'm going to have to let this thing go!! He would be so mad at me..but what am I going to do? Schlep it around for the rest of my life? I do not have the time or money to put into this thing when photography (his and mine) and dance are calling.
I had an email from a man named Jon Sunday night, just his number, just asking to call. I put it off. Other emails asked about the bike Monday morning, but we go in order of who asked first.
He sounded European, and a little older on the phone. He said this was the bike he rode throughout his school years in Philadelphia. Even in the snow! He loved this bike. He had been searching awhile. I told him I would text him the address, and be home at 6:30pm. I warned him it was gonna really need some work. It had been neglected. At 5pm he texted to say he was leaving his house now. I confirmed I would not be home till 6:30. He responded "NP".
I go home, unlock the bike, and say a formal goodbye. I thank her for her many years of service, tell her I always loved her and I always will. I acknowledge out loud I can hear my father arguing with me I am making a mistake, but I can not care for this bike. If there is a person that will appreciate her and can put time and money and love in, that's where the bike belongs. I kiss her handlebar, say goodbye and pull her out of the carport.
Jon texts right then he is parked in the alley behind my building.
I waddle forward with the bike, approach a white Prius with dark tinted windows, and a man with white hair and glasses emerges. "Jon?"
"Yes, yes hello Sydney nice to meet you!"
He takes a look at the bike. "Oh yes, this is it. I rode this bike all over Philadelphia when I was in school. Even in the snow! I would ride over to my wife's house then, when we were dating, and lean against it and wait for her to come outside. Her father would tease her. Say I was crazy for riding my bike in the snow."
Oh my god.
I tell him this is just what I was hoping for. Not someone that needed extra metal for scrap. Or someone that didn't know what they were buying, but someone that would appreciate and put love into this bike.
He looks closer, and realizes the rust is pretty bad. He has a guy, he's bringing him the bike tomorrow, and he said to be sure there is not
too much rust. He asks my price again, his eyes are bad and he wasn't sure what I was asking. He winces when I tell him. I knock $15 more off and he hands it to me and starts opening the hatchback on the car. I tell him to please keep my info and send me a picture when the bike is finished. I've had it since high school, I really intended to restore it myself, but I have not had time or money. I am so pleased I found him, I am so happy he wants to restore it. He gasps and then smiles when he hears this, "it was your bike in school too?!" He assures me he will send photos. We both have a good laugh about how you can't be sure who you are going to meet on craigslist and we are both so pleased this was such a positive interaction. He says he is so relieved that after driving all this way it worked out. That's when I find out he came all the way from Laguna Niguel!! Almost 70 miles in rush hour traffic for a bike he's been searching for for years.
Sometimes you wait and don't know why. Sometimes you hesitate and can't explain. I held onto a rusty bike for 4 years and moved it 20 miles because my gut told me to and in the end, the bike got the home it deserved.
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