So, if you didn’t see my rants and laments on Twitter and Facebook, some asshole stole my bike several days ago. It was locked, although only to itself, in the foyer of our building. Whoever it was pushed in, took it and two of my neighbors’ bikes. People are jerks.

Mr. Bikey was the best. I rode her everywhere, (despite the “Mr.”, she was a lady, although one unfettered by traditional gender roles) almost every day, in all weather, every season, for six years. I rode her, on average, 75-100 miles a week. I once rode her over 50 miles in a single afternoon. I had just gotten her tuned up last week and riding her the last few days was like a dream.

A bike is just a thing, but if you ride one everywhere, every day, it’s really easy to conflate this complicated metal object with all of your feelings of independence and freedom and mobility. I cried when I realized Mr. Bikey was stolen. I felt like I had all the wind knocked right out of me, and I grieved for a few days.

I’m fortunate in that I can afford another pretty easily, although it’ll take me a while to be able to replace everything, like the rack and panniers. I just bought a new bike today, and it’s gorgeous. Honestly, it’s really great, probably objectively better than Mr. Bikey. I really love it, but I don’t feel like we know each other that well yet. It doesn’t yet feel like the same extension of my body that Mr. Bikey was. I’m sure it will soon enough; I just have to put a few miles on her. See? I’m already calling it a her.

Her name is Snowball II, by the way. I think we’re gonna be just fine.