After recieving a generous financial donation for my birthday last year, I decided there was only one thing I wanted to buy, and I wanted it immediately. A bike, naturally. Now at this point I wasn't actually thinking that I was going to miraculously become a bike messenger overnight. But it helped that I had been working at a courier company for the past year, and that six months earlier I had started doing deliveries on foot. My plan was to gradually assimilate myself into my ideal job, and that's exactly what I did.

Anyway, on March 7, 1998, I had my mind set on buying a bike, and when I'm in that kind of determined mode (which happens very rarely), nothing can stop me. I deposited my birthday check and set out for about 3 different bike stores before I found the right one. I circled around all of the bikes for about an hour, only half noticing that I kept coming back to the same bike over and over. I was drawn to a 19" red Kona Hahanna mountain bike. I thought it strange, as red was most definitely not my color. But the paint was so beautiful, it had a sort of pearlescent shine, caused by tiny sparkles that are barely detectable with the naked eye. I kept coming back to that bike, caressing her saddle and her gently sloping frame. I realized that this bike was my destiny, and decided to buy her.

The bike dealer came over and I asked if it came in any other colors. He ignored my question and went directly to sizing the frame. We found that the frame was a little large for my body, but I decided to get it anyway. When I tried to purchase her with my debit card, foolishly thinking that the check I deposited earlier in the day would now be waiting for me in my checking account, my card was rejected because there was not enough money in the bank. Discouraged, I ran to the nearest ATM to withdraw every last cent (down to the nearest $10 denomination) from my checking account, only to find that it was not enough. I then had to get the maximum cash advance available from my Visa card. It was exactly enough, down to the last dollar.

I wheeled my new bike outside and promptly attempted to mount her, only to find that the seat was too high and my balance was way off. I went back in the store and had them lower my seat, and then went back out again, awkwardly pedaling down the sidewalk, too shaky yet to venture into the street. I decided to stop at a local taco joint and have a bite to eat. I locked my bike directly outside the window of the restaraunt where I could keep an eye on her. I ate hurriedly, growing tense every time somebody walked by, fearing my bike would be stolen within minutes of purchase. One guy did actually eye her hungrily as he walked by, and I could see him mentally calculating his chances of breaking the lock and making off with the goods. I finished my lunch as quickly as possible.

It was a long, hard, chilly ride home, but we eventually made it. After posing with my bike in front of the mirror in the hallway, unsucessfully trying to look cool, I collapsed exhausted on my bed and contemplated the usage of my Kryptonite lock as a large, heavy dildo.

After our first shaky encounter, my bike and I eventually grew compatible, and I learned how to maneuver her around successfully. I decided to name her Shutu, a name which I found in a giant book of mythological goddesses from around the world. "Shutu," which means "South Wind," was the Mesopotamian/Babylonian goddess of weather and directions. I chose this name in the hopes that Shutu would guide me throughout any conditions Mother Nature would hurl at us, and take me anywhere I wanted to go, withoutu the fear of losing my way. She does all of that for me, my little titanium goddess.

I started bringing her to work, and soon became aquainted with the joys and the frustrations of riding in city traffic, irresponsible pedestrians, mechanical problems, and, oh yeah, I delivered some packages too. The more I worked as a bike messenger, the more I realized the prejudices, misconceptions, and even hatred, that the general public has for bike messengers. This situation was further exacerbated by an incident in Boston when a pedestrian was seriously injured by a bike messenger. For more info on this (which I will discuss later on), click here

As I have stated before, I am not a normal girl. I'm a hermit and a loner. I have no friends, and I'm closer to my bike than I am to most people. Shutu is like a person to me, and we have a relationship that is, I think, beyond the scope of any human-human relationship. She doesn't talk or think, of course, which is exactly why she is such a good companion for someone like me. She emits some sort of indescribable energy in the way she responds to my touch and seems to react to my thoughts. She requires lots of care and gentle handling, but, like me, she's tough and reliable. My obsessive compulsiveness over her physical condition causes me to wince at the slightest scratch in her paint, to scrub her every nook and cranny with a toothbrush until every speck of road grit has been removed. Shutu and I have a special relationship, and I hope she'll be with me for a long, long time. The fear of losing her to a theft or an accident is more than I can bear, and if given the choice, I would take a serious injury to my own body in order to save hers. See? I told you I was a weirdo.

What's it like to become the object of your own obsession? Read on...

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Getting a New Gig
Diary of # 177
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