คิดถึง

For some reason today I miss my mission bicycle.

It was a special bike.

I chose the frame in a shop in Bangkok. Mostly because it was green. It caught my eye. They tried to sell me shocks on the front, but I didn't know how to fix them, so I declined. Glad I did that. Saw a lot of broken shocks later.

Everything on the bike I could repair myself... at least temporarily, except a flat tire. And I had plenty of those.

By the time I was to leave it, the bike was a little worse for wear. The gears didn't work well. The chain slipped anytime I tried to pedal quickly. I replaced both tires in different rural towns. Selection was poor, which meant that one was gray and one was black. Mud flaps were hand-made out of plastic water bottles, tape, and shoelaces (all bought at 7-11). The handlebar grips at different times were black, blue, purple, and then black again. I replaced the kickstand at least once. The seat was like a rock.

Even over eight years since I last rode it, I can remember how it felt to click the gearshift with my right thumb. I did that a lot. Even when it wasn't necessary.

I rode that bike almost every single day for two years. And yet, I never just took a picture of it. I only have two pictures. One of me in my apartment lifting it to be goofy, the other is of me with a stinkin' huge elephant. The bike was in the photo on accident.
At the end of my mission, I took it to a bike repair shop and got it fixed as best I could. There is only so much you can do with a bike that has seen two years of missionary wear-and-tear. Then I sent it to a young man I knew in another town.

It was a good bike.

And that is all I have to say about that.