How I Got My Bike

With the new Bond movie explaining how he came to be misogynist, how he came to drive that snazzy car and how he became a double 0 I figured I'd do an origin story here as well. Want to know how the world's other super suave hero got his snazzy wheels? Okay then, here's the story of how I ended up peddling about town on my beautiful green cruiser.

Patrick has the worst luck with Bikes. He buys gorgeous bikes, brand new, must've bought five of them in the decade I've known him, and yet there he is rolling around on some crappy spare parts machine that a friend donated after the most recent bike theft left him on foot.

He was staying with me when his green Dyno cruiser disappeared from my porch. He cried, cursed, bought a new bike. A few months passed and we forgot about the green machine.

I was screechin' for a Stones meet Stooges rock and roll band and we landed a gig at The Press club. We showed up early to load in our amps and such and as we walked through the door, there on the stage, with a spotlight fixed on it no less, was Patrick's green cruiser. Of course we figured it had to be a similar bike, but a close inspection revealed the stripes of white paint on the fender from a drunken run in with freshly painted stairway.

I considered just hoppin' on the bike and makin' for a home, but instead I asked Danny, the bartender, whose bike it was. He pointed out a guy who looked to be in his mid to late forties hunched over a pint of beer. Danny told me the guy had bought the bike from a crackhead two weeks earlier for $30. I approached.

"Excuse me, is that your bike?"

"Yep."

"It's nice, where'd you get it?"

"From the bike shop."

"Oh man, we're off to a bad start, because I already know you bought it from a crackhead for 30 bucks."

"Yeah, well, what's it to ya?"

"That's my buddy's bike and I'm going to take it now."

The dude sat up and sized me up, and took a look at my bandmates standing behind me. We're a wimpy bunch at best, not a one of us getting too close to the two hundred pound mark and other than me I don't know if any of the guys have ever been in an actual fight. I hadn't used my fists in quite some time. It cracked me up then to realize that we were actually managing to look a bit intimidating.

Dude hunched back over. "Well that sucks. What about my thirty bucks?"

I started to feel bad for the guy. "Yeah, well, that's the chance you take man. For thirty bucks you had to have known the bike was hot."

"Alright. Shit. Hey, will you at least buy me a drink?"

I don't drink, and playing there that night meant I had two drink tickets in my pocket. I handed them over. "Here ya go man, I'll buy you two."

My new friend smiled. I rode the bike home and locked it up thoroughly in the backyard. Patrick had already bought a new bike and was so stoked that I'd gotten this one back, he let me have it. My band tore it up that night, and I'm pretty sure I saw the guy who had given us back the bike dancing in front of the bar. The Press Club stiffed us our pay, but that was to be expected.