I leave Berlin on a Thursday afternoon. I do not tell anyone. The train is a non-stop intercity. It blasts through the flat and green landscapes of central Germany. Suburban stations and towns pass too fast and I cannot place where we are. I enjoy that feeling of place-less-ness.
It is late evening when we arrive in Köln. I follow the directions and wait for the city train connection. It has rained most the day and the platform is damp and windy. People are strung out along the platform and keep to themselves. I huddle against a concrete pillar and message Jasper.
cold and rainy
not too many people
does not seem like alternative to berlin like they said
how is southampton going?
The train arrives. From the wide s-bahn windows I observe the distant city lights become less distant. For one of Germany’s biggest cities it is not that lit up. No stop that, I think firmly. You needed to leave Berlin. You don’t have the right to compare.
I heave everything of the train. The large rucksack gets hoisted on my back and I sling the smaller backpack over a shoulder. It is everything I own and a few people stare. I ignore them and tighten the straps on the rucksack to make sure the weight is distributed evenly then continue in the measured pace I adopt when carrying this much weight.
The Kölner Cathedral greets me outside the station. Its two gothic towers rise into the night sky and seem a bad omen. Not really the best way to start, I think fishing out the apartment address.
It is far but I decide to walk there since the air is fresh from the rain. The route stretches and I am sweating by the time I make it to the Belgian Quarter where the apartment is. I have not observed my surroundings and could not direct myself back to the station. The first night in a newly arrived city is not for that. It is for ignoring the loss of the newly left city.
Code for the outside door. Code for the key lockbox. I have travelled far but these things stay the same. The apartment duly opens. Ikea plates, cutlery, and bowls. The same sprung boxbed and chairs with the price tags stuck to the bottom.
The next day I wake to a message from Jasper and Leni. I scan Leni’s quickly then close it and mark it as unread. I open Jasper’s with relief.
don’t think of it like an alternative franco
that never works
maybe somewhere new to explore
like one of those crazy conflict countries you worked in
anything will be better than that
on my side, southampton is very bad
this is where hope goes to die
I search for bike stores during breakfast. I had left my bike locked outside a friend’s apartment in Berlin. When I booked the train to Köln, I scheduled it so I would have an hour to get the bike. I still feel frantic recalling it. The desperate search for a scooter to rent. The reckless speed as I weaved through northwest Berlin cutting red lights. And the disbelief then disappointment when there was just no bike to pick up.
A close by bike store pops up. I pack my things and head out. Arriving so late at night, I did not realize my apartment was in a popular district. The streets are heaving and the morning brunch traffic is in full swing. I navigate the outdoor café tables and find the store tucked away in a corner.
"Hi there, I'm looking for an entry level road bike," I say to the assistant.
The assistant, young with trademark cycle cap, takes me to where the road bikes are lined up. They look exceedingly sleek in racing colors of blue, red, and white.
"We're still out of stock of entry level versions. The best we can do is something like this," he says pointing to a low-slung and shiny red model.
I look at the tag. €2000. Far more than I could afford.
“Is there anything else cheaper, maybe a different brand?”
“No, sorry. We’re still pretty badly affected by COVID when it comes to the shipments on the road models. If you wanted something more casual it would be different.”
The next few stores are the same. I feel more the idiot for losing the bike. All I had to do was find a place in Berlin to keep it safe. But you were in such a rush to leave weren’t you? I think angrily. You couldn’t even do that. Yes, but can I spend one day not thinking about it? That why I’m here right. To exercise the whole not-thinking-about-it thing.
Lunch and I return to the apartment. In daylight, the studio seems even smaller. To make space, I put everything unnecessary in the wardrobe. Even with the adjustment, the kitchen and bathroom loom close. Moving between them I feel the irritation when you cannot separate something you want to separate.
I try searching for secondhand bike stores. A listing shows one on the city outskirts. Their website says they up-cycle. Re-use and re-build old bikes. I smile reading it. I hated the idea of an un-used bike.
The s-bahn takes me there. It rattles through the city west and I see commercial buildings give way to apartment buildings, houses, and parks. From the elevated train track, it’s easy to see how the parks infuse the grey pavements and roads with green. Then the industrial quarter starts and the grey surges back.
My phone vibrates. Leni has sent another message. I check it the same as before then reply to Jasper’s earlier message.
not surprised about southampton
you in a country town is a great joke but terrible plan
also agree with you on here
this was my decision after all
and anywhere is better than living in those conflict zones
anyway I am trying to stay positive
in fact I am doing it right now
journey has led me to the edge of the city
if I do not return
tell them I died doing what I love
Upcycling is a warehouse. A long driveway leads to a squat wide building. I am apprehensive until I see spare bike parts inside. A small sign points down a staircase and I descend. It is dark with no light. The steps finish and I take a slow step forward, apprehensive again. Somewhere a sensor lights clicks, and a spectacularly crowded hallway lights up. Bikes and bike parts are everywhere. Hung on the wall. Littering the ground. It is a mechanic's dream.
"Einen moment," a voice says from down the hall.
I approach, marveling the mix match the bikes represent. This is the opposite of those sleek store bikes. Parts were moved as needed. Wheels switched. Cranks and pedals swapped without hesitation.
"Ja?" says an assistant emerging from behind a bicycle he was working on.
“Hey. I was looking for a road bike under 1,000 EUR. Reckon you could help?” I say opting for directness.
“Ja, sure. Follow me.”
We delve deeper into the clutter and veer into a side room. They are a line of unused wheel rims and next to them a silver, black, and blue vintage road bike.
“This is the only one we currently have in that price range. We just finished refurbishing it. Its 1991 and has a solid 105 shimano gear set.”
“1991?” I say surprised, “Same year as me.”
The assistant smiles, “Well then, it is an easy choice. Hey, I will even cut off 50 euros for that. It is really when you were born?”
“Yeah really, I can show you my license if you want?”
“No, I trust you. Plus, I can tell how much you like it.”
There is no need to correct him, the bike is gorgeous. The drop handles had sky blue tape and the front end of the frame was a deep ocean blue before grading into the aluminum silver and black of the back end.
“You got me. How much does it cost?”
“Well normally 800 but I will do 750 like we said.”
“Can I take it now?” I ask hopefully. The idea of taking the train when I owned this seems absurd.
“Oh, sure,” the assistant replies surprised. “Just give me ten minutes to do a final check on it. Anyway, you can always come back later if there are any issues.”
Twenty minutes later I wheel the bike out. Night has fallen and the warehouse lights are dim. I lean the bike against a wall and check my phone. Leni has not sent anything but Jasper has replied.
so cryptic
please don’t join a cult franco
or join one with excellent costumes at least
feel like that’s the only positive thing about a cult
also have you told leni you left?
she just called asking where you were
I frown and switch to the camera app on the phone. I take a photo of the bike. It needs a name I think to distract myself. It’s too beautiful to not have one. I take another picture then send both to Jasper.
sorry about her calling
I’ll deal with it
in other news, I have the answer to my problems
his name is severino
he was born the same year as me