As I age, at calculated moments I tend to enjoy the act of divesting myself of material possessions. Really, stuff is just stuff and more often than not, stuff becomes anchor-y? Anchor-ous? 'The things you own, end up owning you' a wise man once said. (T.D.)
Still, when an asset is taken from you - one that really holds some sentimental value - man, it hurts. The morning after Halloween (perhaps in some quasi-inversion of Devil's night) my '03 red Specialized Rockhopper was stolen from my workplace bikerack. The thieves didn't seem to care that it had a child's seat mounted on it, they just cut the pair of locks and were out in less than 2 minutes.
This was the bike that carried me 3,000 km's around Scotland, and 4,000 km's across Europe and was a beast of a machine. So hopefully it winds up in the hands of someone who take's care of it, perhaps taking them a few clicks across some uncharted territory too. Ciao baby.
