Looking for a second hand bike in the Netherlands you land, well, not quite in the seedy underbelly of society but definitely in a different body part. I started out at the regular bike repair shops and supervised parking facilities, where the most notable thing is the slightly obsessed look in the eyes of the people at the former, and the lone bear attitude of those at the latter. Then I went down the canal.

I almost bought a bike from a transvestite I've been waving to from the ship forever, but his prices were on the high side, so I ended up buying one from the tall, nice (though kinda smelly), multiply pierced guy I'd visited before, and who'd gained my trust by telling me what was wrong with the bike I considered. Then I returned to crazy eyes, who convinced me to buy a huge lock in my suddenly overprotective mood.

Buying a second hand bike, you can't demand perfection, you cannot expect love at first sight. There is never a spark, but any bike you buy has to catch your eye at least. And this one caught mine (I'll post a picture tomorrow).

I've temporarily christened it Johan. It's a guy, that much is for sure; after the timidity of the saddle on my last bike, this one makes itself felt quite clearly between my thighs. And Johan seems to appropriately reflect it's second hand nature. I do plan on spray-painting him over purple and bright green, so I might want to change its name to something more flamboyant then. Hedwig seems an obvious choice, but I'm afraid people would miss the joke and think me incredibly self-centered. Frank-N maybe? Any suggestions are welcome.

It feels good to be mobile again.

H.