“Where is your bike Robbie?”
I heard a very recognizable, somewhat Americanized, across the pond, accent. It was my good friend
Gary. I told him that my bicycle got jacked about a week before, from in front of my house. Gary reached
into his pocket and pulled out a key.
“Here, take this one,” he said, pointing to a bike chained up outside of the Ling Gee Chinese restaurant.
“That one doesn’t really suit me anymore, I am just getting myself a new one.”
I said, “Wow, Gary, that is amazing. Are you sure?”
“One of the tires might need a little air but other than that she is a good rider,” answered Gary.
We parted ways. I went across the street and unlocked the bike. The bike was a free spirit. It was a mid
1970s beach cruiser style bike. with a teal color. The rear tire was flat, so I pushed her home. I put some
air in the tire, went inside for a bit, came back out and the tire was fine. She was a three speed and a
good cruiser.
I rode that bike for at least a year, to all of my fishing spots around the neighborhood. It was a great
bike. I saw Gary a few times throughout that year. It was always a good feeling when he saw me riding
the bike. I liked the fact that it would make him feel like he did a good deed, because most certainly he
did.
I remember one-night, Gary came into Bait and Tackle, and we were both hungry. We were short on
funds, so we looked over at the Chinese menu, and we saw a cheap item, chicharrones de pollo. Neither
one of us knew what chicharonnes de pollo was, but we went ahead and pulled the trigger on it. We
figured with our limited funds we would save some drinking money and get a good little meal out of it.
Gary and I, we both pretty much would eat anything. If I didn’t finish it, Gary most certainly would. The
dish arrived and it was a good amount of food for a late afternoon snack. We both dug in and took bites,
and then something changed. I looked at Gary and Gary looked at me. It was almost like there was a
contest to see who would not spit it out first.
I choked mine down and so did he. We put our chopsticks down and scratched our heads and really
were not quite sure what we had just consumed. Gary looked at me and said, “Well at least it only cost
us $4 to figure out that we should never eat this chicken again.” After research we came to find out this
pretty much was the ass of a chicken. It was prepared quite wonderfully but the texture and taste just
was not suiting either one of us.
Gary and I both did music. We both worked at the Bait and Tackle on and off. We bumped heads a little
bit here and there. He had a much bigger head than mine, so I tried not to do that too often.
As I said, the bike was a great cruiser. It took me all over. I am pretty sure it was a Saturday night that I
went out to my fishing spot. It was a really hot day. It was one of those days where long after the sun
goes down the concrete and surrounding structures still radiate the heat from the day.
I put my lines out, fished through the night, and around 2 am, when I could still feel the heat coming off
the concrete, I suddenly felt a coldness come over the whole area. I mean it was a type of coldness
where there was not any forecast of cold front or storm, but it was the kind of cold that had the ability
to suck the remaining heat out of the concrete and my surrounding structure. It was quite odd. I had
never seen anything quite it.
I packed up my gear. I don’t think I caught anything that night. I went out to my bike was and began to
load up my gear. I looked down and noticed the rear tire was flat. It was the same tire that was flat
when I got the bike from Gary. I mean I rode that bike for a good year without any flat tires. I had a lot of
gear, so I mounted what I could up on the bike, strapped the rest of it over my shoulder and headed
home.
I had a scare once before with the free spirit. I saw some bunker as I was riding along and stopped home
without locking her up. When I came out she was gone. I said, “this is not good.”
I searched and searched. I did not want to let Gary know. Two weeks later I was walking by a pizza place
here in the neighborhood and I noticed that there she was with a pizza rack on the front. I said, “oh my
goodness, oh my goodness.”
I went inside and spoke to the owner. What happened was that someone showed up for a pizza order
without money and traded my bike for the pizza.
I said, “That is my bike, that is my bike.” The pizza guy said, “what do you mean?” I said, “it got taken
about two weeks ago in front of my house. It is my bike. My good friend Gary gave it to me. What are
we going to do? He said, “I don’t know?”
Right at that moment in time I look out the window as I was trying to collect myself and not lose it and I
see Gary. I said, “You know Gary, he gave me the bike, let me go get him.”
Immediately there was a termination of the squabbling over how the bike got to him. He said, “OK, let
me take the basket off, give me a few days, and then come and get it.”
It was a close call and I am glad that it turned out the way it did. I get home in the cold and unload my
gear and I go to sleep. The next early afternoon, which kind of is morning to me, I woke up. I had a
telephone call and it was a friend of mine. “Gary passed away early in the morning,” he said.
I could not believe it. It was a big shock to me obviously and everybody else. My immediate thought
went to his children. That Monday evening, I rode the free spirit to Bait and Tackle. I posted her up right
there in the front. I made a little altar, if you will, and people placed flowers and candles. It was all very
surreal.
I had started a job at The Verona, which was on the corner of Verona and Van Brunt Street, a few
months prior. It must have been about two or three weeks after Gary passed that I went into work one
night and noticed that a bike. The bike was called the Gary Fisher Mamba. It was alongside the building
by the fence with a heavy chain but a lock that was not locked.
I thought that somebody must have left this bike here and forgot to lock it. I worked my shift. I went out
and was going to lock up the bar, the Royal Wine Bar. I thought I can’t leave this here. What should I do?
I placed a note where the bike was saying that I have your bike safe and secure. It is here at the Verona.
I left my number and said to call me, I only live a few blocks away, and I will make sure that you get it.
I did this for two weeks and nobody called. The few people that I spoke to knew nothing. Eventually I
took the bike home, I put some air in the tires, fixed it up a little bit, let the free spirit take a rest, and I
began to ride it around the neighborhood.
Mind you this was a Gary Fisher Mamba from 1996. At that point in time it was one of the premier
custom frame mountain bikes that were made. It had a nice shock on the front. It was a steel horse. I
was quite perplexed that the bike was there and that no one knew how it got there. A lot of things
crossed my mind.
Once again, outside of Bait and Tackle, my good friend Gloria said, “that is Gary’s bike.” I said, “What do
you mean?” He gave me the free spirit, this bike was left outside the Verona unchained a couple of
weeks ago. She said, “Here look (pulls out her phone), I got dragged from that bike.” I guess she was
riding the bike one night on the bike and had fallen off. She showed me the picture and most certainly it
was the bike that Gary had bought used to replace the free spirit prior to him giving me the free spirit.
She goes, “yeah, Gary had it stolen a few months before he passed somewhere in Coble Hill. I said,
“what do you mean?” She goes, “Yeah, the bike was stolen from Gary.” I explained to her that it was left
outside of the Verona about a week or so after he had passed unlocked on the fence where I had just
started working about four months prior.
It’s funny, I had a little feeling that somehow that bike was connected to Gary. Come on, Gary Fisher,
how it got where it was, you tell me it is anybody’s guess, but it is what it is. Gary and I, we would always
look out for each other. He gave me a bike in life, and he gave me a bike in after life. That is all I have to
really say about that.
People can believe whatever they want, who am I to say. The free spirit, I gifted it on to somebody who
really need a good ride. The Gary Fisher Mamba, I still have, and I’m going to recondition that bike as
soon as I can.
