Reunited

I'm back in Chicago for a couple of weeks, and back riding my street bike. It's nothing special. Just a cheap Taiwanese track frame with some Deep Vs and a bunch of different and not necessarily matching parts thrown at it. But, I love it nonetheless, and I love what it means to me. I don't care if it sounds dopey, but this bike means freedom to me, and I really only learned to appreciate that when I moved away. You see, this bike has been, for months, lying in pieces under a tarp in a downtown Chicago storage space. I could only take one bike to Caracas, and I chose to take my geared road bike. I wasn't sure a brakeless track bike would be a good choice for the streets of Caracas. Caracas is hilly, but that's not the problem. The problem is the drivers. They. Are. Mental.

I know, I know, everyone says that about the drivers in every foreign city, but I'm being totally serious and objective: every driver in Caracas is a homicidal/suicidal maniac. Four way intersections are like games of four car chicken: whoever has the stones to speed through is the winner, and the other three cars are usually reduced to flaming wrecks. Not only that, but no one, I mean no one commutes by bike, so drivers aren't really used to seeing people on bikes. Finally, the cheapness of petrol means the roads are flooded with all manner of motor vehicle, from tanks and buses to swarms of cheap Chinese motorbikes (marketed with incredible names like New Jaguar and Howard John.)

Anyway, needless to say riding this thing around the street of Caracas doesn't strike me as a pastime conducive to a long and healthy life. But being reunited with it in Chicago is great. Bombing around downtown, along the LFP and around the cabs and buses of Michigan Ave... I love it. I may bring it back to Caracas with me, even with the crazy drivers. It's just too much fun.

(Hey Aaron, I took the top tube protector off. You win... you swine!)