The Bicycle

For many years now I have been intrigued with a particular rusty old bike. This bike is always in the same place. It is never ridden. The snow drifts rise up around it in the winter and the scorching sun beats down on it in the summer. Through the winds and rain, sleet and hail, it remains in that one spot. Never moving. Always quiet. And I wonder.

I wonder what the story is surrounding that old bike. It appears to be white in color. I cannot really see all the details from the road. I can’t even tell if it is a man’s or woman’s bike. I will tell you that it is in a huge parking lot of a factory and chained to a light pole. It’s not located in the front of the lot but more off to the side. My mind races with stories of this mysterious bicycle as I pass by each day.

Sometimes, many times, I have thought of going to the office of that factory to see if they can tell me the history of the bike. I will drive by and check if the gate is open. When I do see the gate is open I end up talking myself out of going in. Do I really want to know what happened to the owner? And why they left it? I’m not sure.

Maybe someone just didn’t want it anymore. But then why is it still there?
Maybe someone didn’t make it out of the factory able to ride again. Ever.
Or maybe the owner left with someone else leaving their past far behind chained to a light pole.

But I believe in my heart that it was left there on purpose as a reminder or a memorial of someone special. Someone who meant something to those people in that factory. The factory has changed some over the last few years. It was renamed and I don’t know if the manufacturing changed as well. But someone rode that bike there. And someone else knows its story.

As I passed by tonight, I started thinking about someone’s memory of that bike and then my thoughts turned to my own memories. I have thousands that I treasure. Many that are painful. And some I don’t share with anyone. In a way, they resemble that old bike. They are chained to my heart like that bike is chained to the light pole. And no one disturbs them.

I am assuming we all have memories that are chained quietly to our hearts like the bike is chained. They remain there throughout the changing weather in our lives…joy, pain, sadness, and love. I know there are some memories that you probably prefer to forget. But hopefully, there are many more that you want close enough to tap into every now and then. Every memory, though, serves a purpose. A lesson or a blessing. Be thankful for that. All of them helped to make you who you are today.

Thanks for listening to me ramble on tonight about a mysterious old bike.

I hope your day was good and that you enjoyed coffee with me tonight.

Thanks for stopping by.

Andi

Update on June 15, 2020
I added these photos which were taken on my way home from work. It is still there and definitely a men’s white bike.