End of the road
Today, I am mostly feeling a bit numb. I didn’t really intend to do a blog this week. In fact, with nothing to train for, I’ve been struggling to even think of a theme for the piece, let alone when I could be bothered to actually write it. It’s just been a lovely, relaxed few weeks really, enjoying my friends, my family, the Tour de France and most of all, the weather. Summer beers in the park. More barbeques in one summer than I’ve ever had before. New and interesting street food. Pleasant walks. A day at the seaside. All good, but probably not blogworthy stuff in all fairness (insert your own joke here).
Unfortunately though, I have felt compelled to write a short piece today to l explain how absolutely and completely heartbroken I am to discover that my bike has been stolen from my Manchester flat overnight. I still can’t quite work out how it happened, all I know is I came downstairs this morning to find an empty hallway, The White Arrow having been cruelly snatched from her home by some opportunistic shithouse. The nagging feeling that I have had since buying my first ever “decent” bike, that one day she would be taken from me when I least expected it, has now become a horrible reality. I’ll never love again.
I really don’t want this to just become some massive emo blog though, with me just mewing about how sad I am and everything. You can take that as a given really. I won’t bore you (any more than usual etc etc). I just thought though, why the hell not try and do something about it? Get a bit of coverage going on that there internets that she’s missing? Who knows?
Unfortunately, being an off-the-shelf Halfords Carrera job there’s no real distinguishing features, save for the grey Bontrager tyres that I fitted rather than the white / black standard ones that came with the bike. You never know though, the twat who stole her might have left the singular mudguard on there, or the saddle bag packed with various accessories and a present from my old man, a ridiculously useful multi tool. If the saddle bag is gone, there is a bracket mounted under the seat which they might have left, and I’ll know it’s mine because I did a proper bodge job on it and one of the two pieces is fitted upside down as it’s the only way I could fit it. And to think I used to be an engineer.
Maybe (and this is a massively long shot) someone will read this, see the photo, then see said opportunistic shithouse pedalling around on the poor girl and let me know so I can get the Old Bill on the case. Maybe you yourself will catch a glimpse of the her on an eBay or Gumtree listing, being mercilessly hawked out to all and sundry. Maybe you stole her (you utter bastard) and are feeling guilty enough to give her back to me. No hard feelings, eh. I just want her back.
A 30th birthday present from my Mum and Dad, something that has given me immense amount of joy and pleasure, struggling up hills in 30 degree heat or hammering on the flat for over 50 miles is now MIA. I’m sad. If you can be arsed to share this, please do. If you don’t, no biggie. I can’t imagine it’ll work anyway. She’s probably in Guatemala, being stripped and sold for parts already. But if you see her, let me know yeah? And if I get her back, I’ll buy you all a choc ice. Deal?