I’m weird enough already in that I’m a middle-aged guy who bikes pretty much wherever and whenever I can. While most men my age are fixating on Harleys, I’m obsessing over hub options for a new wheelset I wanna build for my trusty singlespeeder that I’ve finally named: Le Noir . Yeah: oddball. To the nth. But when you factor in that I become progressively attached to things I find while pedaling around town that takes my strangeness to a whole new dimension.
I saw him first this past Monday on my way to work. He was face down on the asphalt where Alcott t-bones into Crescent Heights a block south of Pico. Even though he was pretty beat-up I recognized the plaid shirt sleeves, the vest, the blue pants, the cowboy boots, the empty holster. The only thing missing was his hat which little did I know apparently covers up his exposed brain.
I kept on riding. I saw him again the following morning and didn’t even break cadence, but now he was in my head and while pedaling homeward that evening I found myself seeking him out as I approached Pico. Sure enough, still there. Same thing Wednesday morning and evening. Finally this morning when I crossed Pico southbound and saw the mere speck in the road that was him I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to intervene. I had to come to the rescue. There was something just not right about him being lost another second.
So I stopped and snapped the above pic and then picked him up and jeez he’s in bad shape. His spurs had been crushed to nubs and his aquiline nose had a permanent upturn counterbalancing a right foot that was bent downward no doubt from being run over more than a few times. Nevertheless, the smile was still there and something of a twinkle in his one unblackened eye and so I started to put him unfortunately hatless in my pocket, and wouldn’t you know the first place I looked a few yards down the street, there it was. Having reunited him with his crucial accessory, I stashed him in my pack and got on with my commute feeling as silly as I was satisfied.