The Waiting

I got the email yesterday from Steve Hampsten saying my Tournesol frame was back from the painter and did I want to come out to his shop and take a look-see.

Ummm…yeah?

So today, after restraining myself from stopping by unannounced on my ride home from school last night and, this morning, burning through a couple dozen late papers from students in my Philosophy 101 class, I rode out to Hampsten Cycles worldwide headquarters with the trailer stocked full of parts I’ve been hoarding over the last year for the new rig. The steady drizzle did nothing to dampen my enthusiasm; I don’t think I’ve ever made better time with Haulin Colin #3 in tow.

The frame is gorgeous; glossy black with red accented by gold panels on the downtube; exactly the homage to mid-70s Raleigh International and Motobecane Grand Record I had envisioned. The painter decided not to outline the lugs, which I’m glad about because, in retrospect, that strikes me as too fussy. And even though he didn’t do a red fill on the headtube, who needs one, since the Tournesol graphic pops out stunningly?

Now, because there are a few parts left to pick up, it’s going to be a couple more weeks before I get to ride it. At this point, the wait gets really hard—which is odd, since it’s already been about a year and a half; what’s another fortnight or so?

I think the answer has to do with tangibility; for the last eighteen months, the wait has been for a concept: my new bike, the bereavement bike, the one to replace the stolen Rambouillet.

Now, however, I’m waiting for an actual thing—something I’ve seen and touched and gotten my fingerprints on. It’s no longer just an idea; it’s something that, if I had right right bottom bracket installed, could—with wheels and a chain—be ridden home.

Maybe if I just conceptualize that ride, it’ll be easier to hang on.