A Tribute to my Stolen Loves

I never thought I'd be so desperate.

I am actually toying with the prospect of buying a bike from (GASP) a junkie. After a string of four bikes in 20 months, and with just a few months left here, I refuse to pay the 57-plus Euro to repair the piece of junk that is my current bike. And yet I need two wheels to get me around this city -- walking is great, but not if you end up having to huff and puff running late everywhere, and riding the tram gets expensive. A bike is simply a requirement in this city of more bikes than people, and I'm craving that luxurious ride.
I miss my second bike, which was sadly stolen at Central Station, the most (pictured here, romantically lounging its beautiful self amidst the snow). I bought it from a Portuguese guy here who recycles bikes. The other bikes had their quirks:

Bike number One: though it had a bell to warn tourists, it was a little too high -- it made me look elegant, but I couldn't really maneuver myself so well. It was stolen.

Bike number Three: this one was too low and so I looked like an ogre trying to ride a kiddie bike. Also, at this low angle, it was a bit too revealing to wear miniskirts without incredible indecency. At least it had great tires. It was stolen.

Bike number Four: it was missing a brake, shook, and had a bout of three flats in nine days (for which I still suspect shoddy repairmanship).

Since three of my bikes have been stolen, I think I deserve a cheap one from a junkie, but I'm still hesitant. I'm not sure if I am worried more about getting in trouble (if the cops catch you buying a bike on the street it's not such a good thing) or contributing to the circle of bike thievery. Either way, I will continue to halfway-commitedly scope out the streets near the University for scratchy looking people peddling slowly by, mumbling under their breath, "fiets?"