Introducing…the best bike in the whole world

You might be wondering: How many posts can Alison possibly talk about this EFFing bike? The answer: A LOT.





I’d like to introduce Patricia:


I can think of no better name for this beauty. She was my grandma’s, and my grandma’s name happens to be…Patricia! Now, my grandma goes by Pat, but that just won’t do for this bike. It’s Patricia. Remember that.

D and D (Dad and Debbie) delivered Patricia on Friday night, and of course my Dad shined her up for me beforehand. Check out how she gleams in the sunlight.

Saturday, after a lovely trip to the Chicago Botanic Gardens and to Goose Island for dinner and delicious beer, we got back to my apartment, and I think Debbie could tell I was antsy to take Patricia for a spin. (My dad was falling asleep into his beer at the time.)

The next thing I know, I am suddenly 12-years-old again. D and D walked around the block while I circled around them a few times. (I wasn’t ready to brave the traffic on Belmont without a helmet.)

The wind was in my hair. I was grinning like a maniac. I passed D and D and waved wildly. I almost ran into a car. My neighbors out on their porches looked increasingly confused at the sight of a grown woman on a bike riding around in circles on a Saturday evening. I kept grinning. Then I forgot how to brake.

The next day, we went to Target and picked out a helmet. Still looking for the suit of armor.

All in all, a great weekend!

And just a warning to all you possible bike thieves out there: Stay away from Patricia. We don't want this to happen. Yeah, it's another Pee Wee clip. Accept it.

"IT'S JUST ME! WITHOUT MY BIKE!"




"I bought this one hour before my bike was stolen! WHY? WHAT'S THE SIGNIFICANCE?!

I DON'T KNOW!"

Countdown to Schwinn Breeze: 11 days!

Yes, it's true: In 11 days, I will be the proud owner of a green, 3-speed Schwinn Breeze. With sparkly green handlebars. My pops will be delivering this belated birthday present when he comes to Chicago to visit. As if I'm not already fucking pumped to see Papa Hamm—we're going to the Chicago Botanic Gardens!—this visit, he unknowingly is giving his daughter her ticket to Hipsterville. Oh, hell yes.

My new baby looks something like this:

It's so beautiful, it hurts.

My birthday party at Grandma and Grandpa Eckhardt's house this year really was a memorable one. Not only did I have tears in my eyes from stifling laughter throughout our 3 p.m. dinner, thanks to the grandparents' tales from their annual trip to Florida (I'm not sure if they knew it was funny), Grandma E was just so damn chatty that she started cutting my birthday cake before the birthday song. Of course, the three candles were there—"Past, Present, and Future!" (uhh, maybe you have to know my grandma to find that funny)—but a third of the cake was missing as I made my birthday wish. Priceless.

And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Grandma asks if any of us want a bicycle. I follow my grandpa out to the garage with low expectations. I am presented with the hippest bike the streets of Chicago have ever seen.

I fully expect something of this nature to happen within 48 hours of possessing my Schwinn:



I also hope to be engaging in these types of dialogues:





Life is going to be sweet.