So yesterday, before a very fun day out in Milan (more to come on that), I went to get my bike fixed for the first time since getting here. This means nothing about how good condition it was in before but perhaps says more about my laziness when it comes to simple tasks...
In Parma, not having a bike is like not being able to find a Gregg's in a northern town in England - it just doesn't happen. All the mothers, fathers and families possess ones with little baby seats on the back where you can often see a disgruntled child, wrapped up in layers and layers looking thoroughly unimpressed with the chosen mode of transport. The other end of the age spectrum, you easily find many very elderly men and women wobbling from side to side down the cycle paths yet the women still keeping an air of dignity about them in their choice of footwear - six inch heels. Always.
My poor men's bicycle which had done me proud since its purchase for a mere €45 in early October, was ever so slowly falling apart, starting with the fact it had only ever had one pedal since the day I bought it. The brakes had abandoned me shortly after, so for 3 months I had been stopping by scraping my feet along the ground until coming to a halt (which is not a wise move when navigating around Italian drivers). By the looks of it it has been painted and re-painted a thousand times; bits of shiny pink flakes trying to make themselves known from out of the blue and brown.
It is nothing short of a very uncomfortable eyesore and I should have swapped it for a nicer one when I had the chance at the bike shop yesterday, but I felt like Esmeralda, and couldn't bear to part with my Quasimodo-esque bicycle as we flew around the city together.
I will ride it until its dying day, which by the looks of it could be very soon indeed.
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