Captain's Log #28 - The Old Boyfriend

Recently I got a voicemail from an old boyfriend. I was 18 when we were together. He dumped me for another girl, a bookkeeper. I was completely devastated but he was done with me, which was too bad because he was a really nice guy.

He taught me how to maintain my bicycle, in fact he built one for me, it was an iridescent, electric-blue Gitane that had been stripped of its Campagnolo parts. This was the ‘70s, he was working at the best bike shop on the west coast, in Berkeley. French dockworkers had gone on strike and these highly desirable, and expensive, parts were unavailable. I got the frame, which was the perfect size, and he cobbled together everything else: headset, handlebars, bottom bracket, center-pull brakes, wheels and a nice leather saddle. It was a 15-speed, there was nothing I couldn’t climb. Over the time we were together he taught me how to lace the wheels, which I later did on my own, the pinnacle of my skills. This was before sealed bearings and I cleaned, greased and adjusted all the bearings twice a year, and straightened the wheels. I spent a lot of time on that bike over the years.

He was a bike racer and we biked all over Monterey, Carmel Valley and Del Monte Forest. He acquired a tandem bicycle and we rode down to Big Sur, and once, bucking a headwind, up to San Francisco. We got a car ride home because after that, all I could do was sleep. We lived in a house with 3 other bike riders halfway down Carmel Valley, just above the shopping center at the top of the mountain on the northern side. Because I sewed he encouraged me to make bicycle racing jerseys and chamois-lined, wool-knit shorts. Bike racing clothes were not popular so I got a job in a restaurant in Monterey: I had to bike over Carmel Hill twice a day! Funny how, even though you don’t do any exercise, years later you still think of yourself as being in great shape.

He grew his hair out when we were together and I loved to sit on the deck and brush his thick, silky, sweet-smelling, chestnut-brown hair.

When I heard his message my heart melted (his voice is as nice as his hair.) He said he was coming out from Ohio to visit a former house-mate and he’d like to visit me if I was interested, if not, no problem. I thought about this for a couple of days, ruminating over our time together, how much affection I still have for him, and where was he in 2007 when I ran away to Baja with a cowboy? I became aware of my contentment here with Kevin, we have reached a nice place together. The bottom line is I would not risk my life to drive into Bay Area traffic, where people are either extremely over-caffeinated or off their meds, to meet with him for, what, 30 minutes? I left a message saying we could connect by email which he did. He sent a photo of himself with long, white hair, wearing lipstick and earrings.

What a shocker! What do you say to someone - you once loved - who has changed their gender identification? I wanted to say, what are you doing, and why?! And, are you kidding?! And, what?! Do you have too much time on your hands?! And, what does your wife think? He is still married to that bookkeeper. I must confess, this is sweet revenge for her taking him from me. In the end all I said is, you clean up good. His gender identification is his business, but that bike was stolen in 1993 and I still mourn its loss 25 years later.