To: <bike@umail.ucsb.edu>
From: Lauren Chiou <laurenchiou@umail.ucsb.edu>
Subject: Where on Earth did I put my bike?
Dear Bike,
Whenever I lock you at the on-campus bike racks, I lose you. I could leave you there for five hours or five minutes, and the same scenario will play out: I stare at a sea of rusty beach cruisers and ask myself, “Where on Earth did I put my bike?”
There’s nothing more embarrassing than not being able to find you. The other day, I stood at the bike racks and looked for you for a solid two minutes. Ok, I’ll admit, two minutes doesn’t really seem that long. However, two minutes of frantically searching as dozens of bikes seamlessly arrive and depart from the lot? That feels like an eternity.
When I finally noticed you were literally RIGHT in front of me, I honestly considered just walking home. Ignoring my stupidity seemed easier than confronting my lack of observation. As I shamefully biked away, I prayed to God that no one witnessed that ordeal. If anyone saw me awkwardly surveying my surroundings for an extended period of time, only to just unlock the bike right in front of me … I might die. I’m not religious, but I am when it comes to preserving my self-image.
Do you see what you do to me, bike? You introduce a whole other element of social anxiety in my life. If I walked everywhere, this wouldn’t be an issue. I would go to and from class concerned solely with myself, not an additional entity. I wouldn’t constantly question if I locked you properly. I wouldn’t have the fear of you being stolen (bike-napped). And I wouldn’t have to deal with the humiliation of misplacing you.
Frankly, I’m just perplexed by how I constantly lose you. I guess that’s what I get for having the most basic bike in the world. No offense. But I mean, come on. You’re a rusty black beach cruiser with silver handles, decorated with a faded white floral pattern and adorned with a pink bell. You look exactly like every single other bike at UCSB.
Regardless of your flaws, I can never bring myself to be mad at you. Confession: once, on a midterm-ridden rainy Wednesday, I left my entire keychain in your lock while studying in the library. This keychain not only had my bike keys, but also my house, car and mailbox keys.
When I realized I couldn’t locate my keys in the late, late night (or early, early morning, depending how you look at it), I panicked. I tore through my backpack, wandered the halls of the library, searched every desk at the Daily Nexus office — I couldn’t find them anywhere. I sat on the steps of Storke Plaza at 2 a.m., cold, drenched and dreary, and cried.
Eventually, I threw in the towel and made my way back to you, a last-ditch effort in my search. At 2 a.m, the bike racks were completely empty. I had no trouble finding you, because you were the only bike there. And as I walked up to you, defeated, I found my keys: left in your lock for 10 hours, waiting to be found.
I handed bike-nappers the perfect opportunity to steal my life on a slightly rusty platter. Yet, there you sat, shielding my keys from harm. Bike — you had kept them safe! Your lackluster appearance prevented any potential thieves from preying on you, and therefore my keys remained untouched. I had never been more thankful to see you until that moment.
Bike, you’re my lucky charm, my saving grace. At the end of the day, any stressor you may unintentionally cause is outweighed by your consistency. In a fast-paced, stressful and anxiety-filled world, everyone could use a rusty beach cruiser in their life, patiently sitting at the bike racks, waiting to be found.
With that being said, where are you? I’m currently at the bike racks between Storke Tower and the Arts Building and I literally cannot find you. Let me know ASAP, it’s been three minutes and people are starting to stare.
Still looking,
Lauren
PS: Never mind, you were right in front of me this whole time.
A version of this article appeared on p. 14 of the November 21st, 2024 print edition of the Daily Nexus.
