Many years ago, as I bought a truck from Longo Toyota, the salesman seemed more excited than me. "Are you excited about your new truck?", he asked.
"Not really," I replied, "it's just a car."
He seemed crestfallen.
Last year, when I realized my beloved Serotta had been stolen it was almost as if my child had been kidnapped. When I recovered it I was ecstatic. It lives indoors now.
I've owned it over 15 years. I estimate I've ridden about 75,000 miles on it and spent about 6,000 hours riding it. It means far more to me than any car ever could.
This brings me to the closing lines of Mike Carter's excellent book "One man and his bike".
"And finally, I'd like to say thank you to my bicycle. I love you, but not in that weird way that can get you arrested. I'm sure that anybody who loves their bike will understand what I mean"
I understand.
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