It's a FUJI, hybrid style with wide handle bars and silver fenders, and I have a set of handsome canvas panniers that hang over the back rack. It has a big frame, which matches my own. It's a single speed bike, with a comfy seat for my generous ass. It is simplicity and strength. The color of the frame is that of a perfect, squeezable lime. The FUJI bike company got its name from Mount Fuji, the tallest mountain in Japan. I'm the tallest woman in most rooms.
So, we were made for one another.
Before the riots, before the pandemic, I first saw the FUJI at propped up against the counter at the bike shop in Loring Park. When I inquired, the shop's owner said ruefully that it was an abandoned custom build. I rode it twice around the block and came back, starry-eyed and smitten, to strike a deal. Out of a combination of necessity and passion, I've ridden it through many Minnesota winters, to work and to the grocery store and with friends and to parties and to get haircuts. I've ridden my bike to first dates and away from break ups, to protests and to all of my jobs. I rode my bike some 80 miles in a day one time. I've ridden my bike through snow storms and rain and on icey streets. When I ride my bike on a cool autumn day with my jacket unzipped and the sun on my face, I feel so strong and young in a way that is evergreen and fresh.
The FUJI is a tool of liberation.
YOU ARE READING
Four Sided
Non-Fiction"my FUJI is a tool of liberation" four chapters of life in Minneapolis
