i have a ne-ew bi-ike, i have a ne-ew bi-ike

Yes, this is my new (to me) bike. And yes, it is in my living room. (Don't tell Mark - I'll move it to the basement before he comes home on Friday, promise ... it's just really hea-vy ...)

I found it on one of the ex-pat sites I frequent called the English Forum. I have been looking for a bike for months now, as Mark and I were unable to bring ours to Zurich because our shed in Concord was frozen shut when the movers came ... total bummer too, as I just just had my bike tuned up and it was perfect for me - and a pretty shade of green too! -

Anyway, I've been looking at second hand bikes as new ones over here - like pretty much everything - are v. expensive. Turns out second hand bikes ain't cheap either ... but I was on a mission and scoured the sites I've found that occasionally have used items for sale and viola! I found one ... but I had to act quickly.

I had to take a bus then a tram to go see the bike and in the end, Mark was able to meet me there which made me feel better - though any price negotiation was pretty much out as he was looking swanky and 'money' in his fab suit, tie and new overcoat, (not to mention his v. handsome new haircut I convinced him to get in Bellagio last week).

We checked the bike out, I rode it, in one gear, for about 20 feet and proclaimed that it was great. (I know ... such a tough customer). We had not brought the entire amount of cash with us, which was fine as I gave them a deposit and said I'd come back this a.m. to pick it up, pay the balance and ride it home.

Fast forward to this morning. Mark is leaves for the UK for a few days, and I get up and don my 'biking' duds (yoga pants, sneakers, t-shirt and thin Patagonia pullover), put my wallet, a rain hat, the book I am currently reading and an apple in my backpack and head back to the other side of town to pick up my new, red bike!

I arrived at the apartment complex and was met with a veritable daycare of toddlers running around in front of the door where I needed to press the buzzer to let the husband of Elen know I was there to claim my bike.

It's cold here right now, about 10 Celsius (don't ask my what that is exactly in Fahrenheit, but I assure you, it's too cold for kids to be running around in no coat) so I got to see lots of red and runny noses while I waited for the dude to answer the door.

We found out last night that he had just arrived from Ukraine about a month ago and was studying German at home while his wife was in school. He brought the bike up from the basement, placing it in front of me with a toothy grin. I pulled out my wallet, gave him the cash owed, waved and began to walk my bike towards the forest, where I had planned to ride all the way to our apartment.

I hopped on the bike about 100 yards past the apartment complex, downshifted (do you say that in bike speak?) and the whole mechanism on the back wheel dropped to a different location and the chain would no longer move. At all. "Great," I uttered. But still remained calm, despite the pit in my stomach I had regarding this new situation.

Now anyone who knows me knows that I am not keen on confrontation and don't like knocking on stranger's doors, or buzzing their buzzers, I don't like bothering people and frankly, much of the time, I don't like talking to people. I am the classic introverted extrovert. Go figure that one out ... (and be sure to call when you figure out what it means...)

So given the above, I was v. proud of myself for 1/2 dragging 1/2 carrying my newly acquired bike back to Mr. Ukraine to show him what had happened. Mind you, he speaks no German. I speak no German. He speaks no English. I speak no Ukrainian. Already my anxiety was rising, but I tried to think of how my mother would handle it and I felt better (my mother can talk to anyone, even in languages she does not know - she is not afraid of confrontation, or anyone or anything ... my mother is pretty much amazing - so I tried to channel her).

I buzzed again and he came down the stairs smiling. I tried to (loudly and slowly, as we all know makes those who do not understand our language understand) speak and point and draw pictures in the air about what had happened. I can say 'one' in many languages so I tried that, as that is the gear I went into when it all fell apart - literally.

Somehow we managed to communicate and he went upstairs to get some little Allen wrench-like tools which kind of helped. I was relieved that he was so helpful and not laughing at me saying in his language, "sucker" and slamming the door in my face.

He fiddled. I held the bike steady and we both, hmmm'd and ummmm'd and exchanged looks when something obviously worked (or made it worse).

Suddenly my new friend asked, "you talk Spanish?" I said, "Si" and before I could say, "un poco or un poquito", he started sounding like that little Mexican mouse-guy on Bugs Bunny, explaining the situation as he saw it and so happy that we could now communicate. I was pleased when I remembered, from my high school Spanish class that "mas despacio, por favor" means,' more slowly, please'. And I said that to him, though it did not help. I followed and got every 10th word or so and was now really missing our previous, guttural and charade-like communication method.

Eventually, we got it to a place where I was confident the bike would make it and we exchanged our "Adios" and I was (wobbily) off.

My adventure home was not too terribly exciting save for the fact that I rode about 1 mile and walked my new bike up giant hills for about 2.5 miles. Awesome. A great workout to be sure. And going down the hill toward our place at the v. end of the ride was heavenly. (I think I may not be breaking correctly - I feel like I should be downshifting somehow .. maybe? Any advice is welcome)

Now I just need to find a bike for Mark...