This is old news but still good stuff.
When I moved to downtown last year, I had all sorts of images of what my life would be. I pictured myself riding my bike to stores. Becoming a regular at the wine and cheese shoppe (in my pretend world – shop is always spelled shoppe because that seems more fanciful). My aunt gave me a bike basket for graduation – it only helped create this idea. I would get my groceries and put them in my bike basket and ride down the cobblestone road leading to my house.
I thought I would look all retro and fun. In these fantasies I pictured myself having the above bicycle, but I pictured myself being like the main character, Patricia, from the French movie Breathless.
Wouldn’t I look great peddling around the city in my chic pixie haircut and French stripped shirts?
Well, as we learned in the previous posts. I didn’t exactly utilize the bike until recently. I spent most of last year driving my car the three blocks to the grocery. I’ve never been in the wine and cheese shop. (Since I haven’t been there I don’t deserve to spell it shoppe).
My bike doesn’t look like that either.
I can’t find a picture of a purple Giant Attraction bike anywhere on google images, so this pic will have to do
I like that this bike is called “misty.”
I did find my exact bicycle basket though. This basket is pretty cool. You can unsnap the basket from the bike. That way I can take the basket in the store with me and things. It was actually used for holding magazines in the bathroom all year.
Now that we all understand my assumptions and my reality, let me describe my trip to the store last week.
It was a beautiful summer day. After work, the last thing I wanted to do was sit inside. I decided I would grill myself some fish and veggies for dinner. To do this, I needed to go to the grocery.
I’ll finally fulfill my image and ride my bike with basket to the grocery. I also wanted to pick up a onesie for my future neiphew (that means niece or nephew).
I rode down Mass Ave to Silver/Home in the City. I parked my bike outside and everything was going perfectly. I even found the perfect onesie. After that purchase, I road the next block to the grocery store. I unhooked my clever little basket and took it inside with me. I got just the bare essentials for life – peppers, milk, a Mountain Dew, balsamic vinegar, ham salad, and bread. (I know – strange grocery list).
Here’s where trouble ensues.
I hooked my basket back on my bike, but it now had a heavy load. As I was unhooking my bike lock, the top washer pops off the basket sending the entire basket off kilter. I knew I should use more than my fingers to secure the nuts and bolts.
My GLASS balsamic bottle and milk fly across the concrete. My bike has no kick stand so I’m trying to balance my bike, hold up the remaining contents of my basket and pick up the milk and vinegar. Miraculously the glass bottle didn’t break! Woot Woot!
I might want to reiterate. There are many good looking urbanite males who shop at O’Malia’s after work. Many of them passed me with pity as they walk with their canvas bags to their Volkswagen.
I finally managed to get everything back in my basket and commence the ride back to my house. My image was officially crushed. I looked anything but chic as I’m grasping onto the corner of my basket as I drive down the road. On the cobblestone street I nearly lost everything. I’m bumping all over the street. My Mountain Dew is threatening to escape with every rock.
I finally make it safely into my garage. Whew!
I did grill out fish and peppers. Frankly, it was a delicious dinner so I’m not even made about my crushed bicycle dreams.
Ok, so it didn’t really look like that. It was still tasty.
I found this pic last night. I think this may have been the start of my bike basket obsession. Please ignore the way I look. It was clearly during my awkward years. I’m still waiting for those to end.
Man, even as a middle schooler who wore reflective sandals, I wanted basket.
Just read your blog for the first time. I’m honored the basket I gave you played such an important role int your story. (And yes, you should have used a tool to put that basket on, dear.) You write like you talk…and that’s pretty funny. Thanks for the laugh, Bessarooney!