Bicycle Menagerie

While hunting big cats in Panther Hollow on a warm spring day, we came upon the dumpster of dreams.

After walking miles of groomed trails and passing the occasional college kid waddling off his twice-daily hot dogs and fries from The O, we rounded the corner and the skies opened up and the angel choir began to sing praises to our Lord Almighty.

The trash box was elephantine.  

When somebody finally bought the long-unoccupied residence down the street from our house, they tossed the innards into a dumpster big enough to fit four Smart Cars.  It wasn't just some little trash can you find behind the local Eat'n Park.

My chest thumps loudly each time I remember the scene.  Filled to the brim and stacked well above was a collection of my favorite rolling objet d’art.  From atop the mountain of treasure, I started handing wheels and frames to my friend who arrayed them on the pavement.  I surveyed my realm and chose the best subjects to be my personal servants.

Sorting completed, I dashed for the station wagon and loaded up.  Knowing the high value of my find, I hid the best from prying eyes to await my return, carefully piling a few of the worst on top as camouflage (which happens to be my favourite colour).

With my knees bent at an awkward angle and my passenger squeezed in sideways, we slowly made our way across town, offloaded the trove, and returned for the rest.

Finally returning home well after sunset since it was still Eastern Daylight Losing Time, I sat in the basement for hours caressing the new members of my menagerie.  They have become important to me and my family over the years.  I worked up a Robin Hood for my Mom.  Two of them became a recumbent I made for my Dad.  An Austro Daimler is my ride for summers in Paraguay.  

I still visit bike shop dumpsters, but always with a hollow in my heart knowing that my best dumpster dive may be behind me.  

Or perhaps in my basement just a few steps away.

Photos by Author.