In the middle of the night someone stole my bike. I’ve no idea how – perhaps very carefully.
When we went to the carabinieri this morning to report the theft, my guy said, “she was beautiful”. I stared at him, then agreed. Of course she was – that’s why I named her Dovima! – after the world’s first supermodel. Her curves alone stood out in a town constructed specifically for bicycle culture. The rest are boring.
When we moved back to Riva full time, I couldn’t wait to sell my car. After all, we had another one, motorcycles, a vespa (Audrey), but it was all about Dovima. She provides the rhythm to my day, I’m like a young girl with a horse, yes, yes, yes!
She didn’t want to be kept in a garage, I gave her shelter. Dovima was under lock and key. They had to work to steal her away.
I mean, just look at the size of that basket. This afternoon I spent 2 hours on Audrey cruising about, hoping to find my dearest discarded, after a joy ride, a night of mischief, chaos and shenanigans.
But who could possibly discard Dovima?!
I don’t want a new bike, at my age I don’t trust anything that isn’t a bit beaten up. I bought her a decade ago, her battery couldn’t even be replaced – how else do I stay in great shape.
I don’t want anything cool and new, my a la mode lifestyle is over. We bought the first flat screen for 15k, I had a pilates machine before Madonna, bought bitcoin before anybody else…..
I just want Dovima back….