Ike and I

I've named my newly bought bicycle "Ike." I know what you're thinking. No, it wasn't because it rhymes with bike. (In fact, I thought of changing it for that reason only, but the name has stuck). The reason he is Ike is because the name is short, simple and a bit old fashioned, kind of like him.

If you judge friendship by how much time you spend with someone, than Ike is my best friend in Berlin. We go pretty much everywhere together. It's a little too reminiscent of Cast Away — the movie with Tom Hanks where he gets shipwrecked and makes a friend out of a volleyball.

I'm sure it's a bit funny to watch me. There I am, on this rusted white bike with a seat that is too tall for me and handlebars that are too far away, clanging down the street.


Nothing on Ike works properly except the foot brakes (Thank God). There is one hand-brake that sort of sticks up comically to one side, kind of like our old goat Charlie's horns. The light was almost dangling by the second day I had it, so I ripped it off. I stole a screw from it and stuck in in the chain guard, which is the source of the all the noise, but it only partially works. There is this ricketty old shifter, which I haven't quite figured out, but it does shift, just never in the right direction that you need it. Poor Ike. He's seen better days. But he definitely makes life easier.

Lesson learned: Ike and I need each other.