Bicycles.
At least zombies can be killed with a shot to the head. Bikes can keep going forever, mocking you and your lack of balance. Well, if you're me. If you're a normal person, you're probably already cycling around town, accordion music playing in the background, a baguette and carrots with leafy tops in your basket, free as a bird and not in imminent danger of death by truck.
Those issues are why last Saturday marked the first time in about ten years I touched a bicycle. But I didn't just touch a bicycle. I paid for the bicycle, got on the bicycle, and then rode it to a scrapped knee in downtown Victoria.
My chariot came from Recyclistas, one of those places that sells old bikes, builds bikes from spare parts, rents out tools and smells suspiciously... earthy. The journey there was just as exciting as a store. It involved a stranger's bodily fluids, a missed bus, a broken computer and a detour along a sidewalk-free expanse of highway. Oh, and I spotted of a pair of California Quails. Tragically though, I had left my rifle at home, so I couldn't bag some trophies.
To be difficult, I didn't pick a cute European road bike or cruiser. Instead, I came home with some hideous Korean mountain-bike knock off, with with a horn that sounds like a clown's nose and a bunch of holographic stickers. The nice Recyclista man was briefly impressed that the person who could barely ride a bike could tell that it was Korean. Then I pointed out the three South Korean flags on the frame.
In honour of its proud nationality, I have named it Bikegolgi. I have now ridden Bikegolgi three times, and I'm still alive, but barely. Seriously, why don't seemingly normal people, including the entire population of Amsterdam, find the bicycle completely terrifying? It's your fleshy, squishy self on two paper clips and a set of wheels! It's wrong! WRONG!
But I will do it again tomorrow.
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