Save Me From My Sins

Cleanliness is godliness...Everything is white, gleaning and smooth. Unperturbed in the city of brotherly love. It is quite and peaceful as the city snow penetrates the sidewalk-soaking up the grit in the cracks and crevasses. It is reborn and the quite city streets are ripe to redeem my sins.

According to the Bicycle coalition, Philadelphia has 205 miles of bike lanes. From Old City to the Art Museum, from Columbus Blvd to Grey's Ferry, along the Schuylkill River and through the heart of the city, pumping city dwellers to and from work and school. You could follow these veins of transport till exhaustion and get lost in the hustle and bustle of the infagitable energy of the city.

But as I saunter aimlessly through Fairmount on my battered Schwinn, I am in search of a little winter solace; A place to wonder and think, a place to be sad and lonely. Trickling like debris in a river floating towards the ocean I spilled onto Spring Garden Street heading east towards the Delaware. Swerving through red lights and the busy streets in front of the Community College; students bunched in chilled packs as they hustle out of class towards home or the bar, I speed over Broad street and meander towards Northern Liberties. Right onto 6th street, I follow the swell of traffic towards my goal destination.

Riding to the top of the Ben Franklin Bridge is not necessarily the easiest of tasks, the disjointed sidewalk giving shocks of vibration at regular intervals as I dig my feet into the pedals and climb persistently to the top without stopping, even though I find myself trapped in an awkwardly heavy gear. There is certainly no place in the city like the tip of the Ben Franklin Bridge, no place more beautiful to gain a birds eye view of the Delaware, Camden Yards and Penn's landing. But it is also hauntingly lonely, walkers rarely venture there, especially in the winter, and cars speed by below without so much as a glance. The freezing wind, unmolested by the city landscape has an unfiltered chill that nearly takes my breath away.

I am alone...I suppose I have been for quiet some time, however being up here tonight seems to overwhelm me with a hopeless feeling that I can't seem to shake. I am alone because I suppose, subconsciously, I choose to be. I find it increasingly hard to relate to people these days. Thoreau once said "I believe men are generally still afraid of the dark" and I'm sad to admit that I am one of those hopeless lot. When I am alone I am idle and destructive. Huddled against the frigid breeze, I guess I'm hoping to find a little poetic solitude, but tonight, the only thing I'm feeling is bitter cold and a want to escape.

Convenience at first sight.

I found Rusty one morning as I rummaged through my friend Alice's basement while helping her move. Sadly for me, she was moving far away to pursue more sunshine, different people and a more lucrative job. I too needed a vehicle for a new perspective and just when things seemed at their most glum, I uncovered a sad looking, banana yellow, Schwinn Continental.

Founded in America by an immigrant German Mechanical Engineer, Ignaz Schwinn, with the help of German-American meat packer, Adolph Arnold, the Arnold, Schwinn and Company was born in 1895 in Chicago. One of the premier bike brands through the turn of the century and well into the Great Depression, Schwinn was, at one point, one of only 12 bike manufacturers in Chicago. (Wikipedia people)

The Schwinn Continental was a 10 speed road bike modeled after the European style racing bikes. Sleek in form but sluggish in function, the Continental was one of the first American bikes to sport a rear derailleur and shifting 10 speed gears. Built during a time when the paramount American bike company was straining from competitive pressure put on by sleeker, lighter and faster European and Japanese Frames, the Continental was an attempt to capture the imagination of the fitness rider while still offering a sturdy and comfortable riding bike.

Rusty came into this world with high expectations, but sadly, I found her lying disjointedly in the corner of a dank basement in South Philadelphia, her tires flat and her chains and fenders encrusted with rust. I collected her carefully in my arms like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree and wheeled her toward the back of my car. "What are you doing with that?" Alice asked, "where did that even come from, just toss it" she smirked heartlessly. "Alice, I said with a determined smile, this is my new bike."

It begins...

I'm escaping the Patco train station on 16th and Locust on a rainy and cold October evening with my trusty bike "rusty" at my side. Water drips from the bag that I've taped to the seat to keep my ass dry as I puddle stomp through the soaking streets; cars whizzing by, blowing horns because they apparently require more space. I gently stand up on the pedals, wheels shaking violently out of true and pull one hand off the handle bars to unbuckle and unfasten my pants exposing my pasty white ass to the discordant driver. Two lanes of traffic and a parking lane is apparently not enough clearance for this apple shaped simpleton. I curse with fogged breath as the light flicks from green to yellow to red; interupting my determined cadence home and I nearly topple onto the street as I brake and try to get off my bike with my pants nearly around my ankles.

"God damn it Rusty" I say as I morosely dismount, "why are you so fucking slow"? Drip, drip, drip, comes the reply as water streams down the wide angled handlebars. Rusty looks particularly unmotivated this evening, her thick black wheels sag and crack under my weight and the brakes croak with each increasingly panicked squeeze. "She was a shelter bike... I saved her" I say with a fake smile as a bike messenger looks scornfully down at the rust encrusted chain, wriggling because I know I'm being judged for being such a negligent caretaker. "She would've been used for scrap or worse if I hadn't found her" I yell as he effortlessly kicks off the ground and speeds away through the intersection. "Why can't you be more like that bike" I say to Rusty as I ferry her clumsily across the road, still trying to buckle my belt.