I buy my friends
David Barrett
Notre Bum
I knew it would be hard. Fall semester. Junior year. All the cool kids seem to disappear. I lost a couple to Ireland, England and Austria. Lost a couple more to Spain. Like my big brother always said, I was a loser. Again.
I took to the streets, to the dark aisles of Wal-Mart and even fell into some "hard" candy. It was bad, but not for naught, I stumbled upon a stranger. He was dark. He was dirty, real dirty. He was taller than he looked, and, oh, was he handsome. I wanted to say something, to run to him, to ride him, to pop a wheelie on him. Or at least to take him home.
He was a Huffy, but I was a Schwinn man; always had been. I would change. He was a beautiful burnt red, perhaps sienna, and emblazoned on his side were 8 letters: V-E-R-O-N-A. Scenes from Italy crashed into my head. I thought Shakespeare, I thought love and I thought the price was right.
But I needed a bike lock first, and he needed a name. Shelby, Zack, Danny. No, no, no. I desperately lunged into the caged thing with the little bicycle-sized license plates. Almost biblically, the mass of lame midwestern names parted to reveal "Juan." Hmmm. It was short, it was sexy and it was classy. It was perfect. And it was at least a 72-size font so everyone would be able to see him, talk about him and marvel at him from distant classroom windows.
Juan and I have been together for almost two months now, and I am happy to report that it's going awesomely. The only problem is how hard he is to keep up with. He's like a 5-year-old, but much cooler. He possesses 18 devastatingly fast speeds, none of which even begin to express the magnitude of his awesomeness.
Kind of like a haiku. The Japanese believed haiku could transcend the limitations of language to achieve unimaginable beauty. So Juan achieves unimaginable coolness. Thus, through an effort to oppose the linear thinking of man as machine, haiku was born. Juan had a mom, though, and she was probably hot, too. I just know it.
As in any healthy relationship (stress healthy), Juan and I continually reinvent one another. He does for me, and I for him. He has changed the way I look at things and the standards to which I hold other bikes, while I have helped get his feet wet with the new female crowd. He prefers the luscious 24 speeds so prevalent on this side of the lakes to those 10s across the water. I don't blame him. We judge the racks around campus, and strongly question the apparent preference for those curious upside down U imitations. For that sole reason we abandoned exercising at Rolfs for the racks at the Rock. Can't say we regret it.
I guess things turned out alright for me, after all. I got a real nifty bike for a great price. I got a best friend, my haiku. I got mine, and you can get yours.
Keep your head up. Don't get down because your roommate since freshman year is an ocean away, and forget what your girlfriend is getting on in Ireland. It's not too late. You can still salvage your friendless semester. Go get a bike, and you might just get more than you bargained for. I know I did.
And please, get it a name. I know at least a handful of others did. I've seen you, Michaela, and you, Thomas, and you, Pablo, and don't think I forgot about you, Elizabeth.
It is going so well with Juan that I have even begun to look at baskets. It's a surprise, but I have this cute little wooden one picked out. How is that for inspiration? I know at least 90 percent of the female population is fixing to settle down soon, so why don't you girls go shopping for bikes this time? The dudes should go, too. Take a look around, and don't be shy — you might just enjoy the ride.
David Barrett is a junior economics and philosophy major. His column appears every other Monday. Contact him at dbarrett@nd.edu.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Monday, November 18, 2002
