A Love Letter to My Bicycle

Summary

Emily writes a heartfelt love letter to her vintage Schwinn Traveler bicycle, cherishing its history, their shared experiences, and the freedom it represents.

Abstract

In an intimate letter, Emily expresses her deep affection for her mid-1970s Schwinn Traveler bicycle. She recalls the moment she first saw the bike, covered in grime but exuding charm, and the stories of its previous owner's cross-country adventures. Despite its age and the wear it carries, Emily finds beauty and potential in the bike's vintage features and the memories it holds. She acknowledges the practicality of its Patagonia side-saddle bags, dreaming of future travels together. Although she owns another bike, Emily admits that none compare to the connection she feels with her Schwinn. She revels in the youthful freedom and nostalgia the bike brings her, likening the experience to the joy of the Doublemint twins from 1980s commercials. Emily commits to maintaining her cherished bicycle, affirming that it's the best she's ever had and an irreplaceable part of her life.

Opinions

Emily has a strong emotional bond with her Schwinn Traveler, viewing it as more than just a mode of transportation.
The bike's history, including its previous owner's journey to the west coast, adds to its allure for Emily.
She values the bike's vintage characteristics, such as the grip-tape covered handlebars and downtube shifters, which evoke a sense of nostalgia and freedom.
Emily contrasts the experiences on her Schwinn with the practicality of using a car, preferring the style and class of cycling.
She acknowledges the bike's age and the possibility of other, newer bikes, but remains steadfast in her loyalty to her Schwinn.
The Patagonia side-saddle bags symbolize the potential for adventure and the yin-yang balance of storing each other's "baggage."
Emily's commitment to the bike is contingent on its affordability, with a promise to keep it as long as maintenance costs are reasonable.

A Love Letter to My Bicycle

Either you get it or you don’t.

To My Dear Mid-1970s Schwinn Traveler Bicycle:

I remember the moment I first laid eyes on you. You were greasy and muddy, but I saw through your road weariness to your graceful curves. Riding in the back of my husband’s truck, you weren’t much to look at. But my eyes lit up when he told me about how you had been sitting by the side of the road with a cardboard sign that said “$50 cash” on it.

And I fell even more in love when he told me about the woman, grey-haired and in her late 70s or 80s who took his money and told him about how she had ridden you to the west coast and back. I know you’ve been to places I will never travel and have had experiences we’ll never share.

No one could deny the fact that you came with a lot of baggage. You literally had Patagonia side-saddle bags clipped onto your front and rear wheels. While I dream of a day where I am free enough to pack those bags with my own gear and head out for a weeks long bike trip, for now, I’m keeping those bags stowed away in the basement.

It’s pretty yin and yang if you think about it. For now, I store your baggage in my basement. And then someday, you’ll let me store my gear in your bags so that we can ride away together. Montauk? Austin? Vancouver?

I know you’re older than me. By how much, we’ll never know since most of your identifying information has rusted off. But there’s something about your grip-tape covered handlebars and your downtube shifters that makes me feel young and free — like I’m one of those twins in those Doublemint gum commercials from the 80s.

It would be a lie to tell you that I haven’t looked around and considered other bikes. You know I even have a second bike — a raging black beauty with knobby tires that I paid a lot of money for just a few years before you came into my life. But I want you to know that none of those bikes feel like you do.

When I swing my leg over your crossbar and slip my feet into your pedal straps, I feel like I could pedal forever. I don’t need steroids to know that I’m a winner when we are riding together on the side of the road, even if it’s just to the bank to deposit a check or to the post office to mail a letter.

I know I’m just another person to hop on your saddle and take you for a spin. But to me, you’re so much more than that. You’re the wheels to my axle, the sprocket to my gears. You’ve taken me places that I could have gotten to much more quickly in my car, but you’ve done it with style and class.

I love you and as long as I can maintain you for less than a hundred bucks a year, I will keep you around forever. You are the best bike I’ve ever had and no matter what, I’ll never forget you.

Yours truly,

Emily