That's the bike I've been riding to work for the past few weeks. It weighs about 60 pounds, no joke. It's a single speed but somehow is exactly the speed you need at any given time, including riding through pedal deep mud puddles and mud that would swallow a Honda Civic. In the basket is Spaghetti, the little Bean look-alike that we fell in love with and had every intention of taking home until we discovered it would cost almost $1000. He rode in the basket to and from the hospital happily, nose in the air. He followed us around all day as we worked, crawling into a lap instantly if one became available. He had been found as puppy in coma, having been beaten by a group of children. His litter mates all died but he pulled through though not without a bit of brain damage that made him twitch randomly. When we left today he chased us down the road as we pedaled away as quickly as possible. I looked back and was caught by a vision of such pure cinematic dramaticness Steven Spielberg would have been proud. I parked the bike and carried him back to the hospital, getting lost in a field of sugar cane along the way. I had to kiss him on the head, lock him in a cage, and say goodbye. The people at the hospital promised they would take good care of him and let him live there forever without being released back on to the street.
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