I've been wanting to get a bike for quite some time now. I got a used one on ebay and it came in the mail today. I've been getting so pumped about riding my bike to work. When the box arrived today I dragged it down the hall and into my apartment and ripped it open.
The bike was in several pieces. Not to worry, I thought. I had the same type of bike in the Peace Corps and that one came in a million pieces and I managed to put it together. I sat on my floor, on top of the cardboard box it came in, and started to assemble my bike.
As I'm sitting there, hands covered in grease trying to remember how I attached the breaks to the front wheel 9 months ago, I thought to myself, Damn I wish Justin were here to help me do this again. Justin was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mali. He had been there almost 2 years and was a skilled "bike guy"and they had him come to help us with the mechanics of putting these contraptions together. He helped all of us clueless people put our bikes together and was very helpful.
Then I had a sad realization; Justin died 8 months ago. Just a few days after I came home from Mali. I barely knew Justin. The few hours he spent helping me with my bike was our only encounter. It didn't keep me from getting pretty bummed today. Most of my memories of Mali are bittersweet, happiness mixed with sadness. And now, as I struggle to rebuild my bike, I find myself grieving for someone I barely knew and it makes me miss my PC friends more than ever. Some are coming back to the States to visit this summer though... and I can't wait!
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