Happy 19th birthday to my bicycle. I take absolutely no care of you. I leave you out in the rain. I ram you through snow and mud and up and down kerbs. I make you drag stuff too heavy for you. I rarely remember to feed you with oil and air. I fling you onto trains and into hedges and into any space you fit, or don’t. And yet you always work, cost little to maintain and nothing to run. And you give me easy exercise. And I will never be too old not to think Wheeee! as I freewheel you downhill.

My trusty faithful old silver-coloured Kildemoes bike parked alongside other bikes at a bike rack, a rucksack in the big silver aluminium basket. It’s a city bike, a comfy sit-up-and-beg bike with big wide handlebars. The bikes here are all higgeldy-piggeldy, parked in different directions instead of in the actual wheel slots. Not because we’re edgy and cool, but because the racks were full earlier so some bikes had to be parked willy-nilly wherever you could find space. There are winter leaves on the ground; the edge of a nice big old tree trunk to the left; an empty side road beyond; and across from us, trees at the edge of the woods.
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