Now I will never be in the Tour de France.

Summer 2008. E and I are hitting tag sales (yard sales for those of you not from Connecticut) to pick up a few odds and ends for our new apartment. You know, light-duty vacuum cleaner for the hard wood, a few mugs and plates and things -- basically, stuff that no one who isn't moving into their first apartment together wants anymore.

We arrive at one tag sale, where I see this beautiful red vintage bike, in great condition but for the flat tires. The people selling it, an older couple who were very nice, ask for an offer, and I get the bike for 10 bucks, which is obviously basically free. I brought it home, inflated the tires, and relearned how to ride a bike. That's right, folks, it was a little touch-and-go for a while there, but I made it with all of my skin intact. The bike traveled with us to Boston, where I never rode it (I blamed Masshole drivers and our apartment's location halfway up a pretty steep hill), and almost sold it before we moved down here. But I didn't, and we crammed that stupid bike into our moving truck and brought it down here because I had visions of grand summer bike rides in flowing dresses and cute shoes, hair blowing in the breeze and picnic basket strapped onto the back fender.

We've been here for 4 months, now, and I haven't learned. Haven't even ridden it around the block. It's been sitting in the lobby of our building with another tenant's bike, completely unused. The truth is, I'm still terrified of biking on the streets, and I would never ride on the sidewalk because I want to KILL anyone who endangers me, the pedestrian, by flying down sidewalks on bikes. But the other night, I came home, expecting to see my happy, disused red bike greeting me in the lobby, only to see that it had disappeared!

That's right, someone stole my bike. Now, for some reason, I am actually more upset about this fact than I have any right to be. But somehow, thinking of someone else getting use of the 10 dollar bike I never rode really grinds my gears (pun intended). How dare they!? And now I will never get to be the hip, eco-friendly cyclist whooshing past befuddled pedestrians on my way to the museum, or the park, or whatever it is these kids do these days. I could have at least sold the damned thing and made my 10 bucks back.

There is also a chance that my building's superintendent noticed that I wasn't using it anyway and put it in storage for the Winter. I only think this might be the case because his bike, previously stored in the same place, has also been missing for a few days now. But I am too wimpy to ask him about it, so I will continue to pout.