I love my bike, a cheap Amazon purchase, a woman’s Huffy, with lots of gears that I never use as Key West is perfectly flat, and an awesome deep blue and turquoise paint job, one of the nicest paint jobs I’ve seen on the island. I’ve outfitted it with a white, market basket and side view mirror, that’s it. I could actually use a better seat but I’m too cheap right now to pop for the $40. upgrade–plus my ass is fairly conditioned to the hard plastic that doubles as cushion.
And I love biking. My biking is the biking of a teenager; I cannot text and drink and drive hands-free as these acrobatic children do, but I can ride in traffic and alongside it, and without being foolhardy, I can make a left turn without looking like a fool. It is my only transportation, my wheels, and it is wind-in-my-hair-freedom and a fuck-you-establishment attitude. And now that high season is over, and the snow-birds are back in Ohio or Michigan or wherever they came from, licking the last of their Key-West-biking-wounds, I own the road.
Did you know that a night ride on your bike, under the stars and moon, atop an island, propelled by palms, guided by imagination and a small flashing bulb is a marvelous combination of exhilaration and sensuousness? I’m 16 or 26 or 66. Air out your brain; take your convertible for a spin under the stars.
photo credit: pinterest