Meet my newest accoutrement/trendy mode of transportation/fashion statement. It was a late birthday gift from my boyfriend, who wisely opted out of gifting me with new sunglasses (yes, I'm still looking) and invested in this beauty that had been languishing in someone's garage in Santa Cruz for far too long. We're the perfect hipster couple now with our matching Schwinns. His is a '67 Racer, mine is a '72 Breeze. I had initially balked at the idea of getting a girls' bike (don't ask me why, I've always just liked the look of boys' bikes better) until I realized: a. the whole point of the dropped bar on a girl's bike is so you can wear skirts and dresses, and b. the only thing better than a cute vintage bike is a girl on a cute vintage bike wearing something fabulous. It was a very 'aha' moment.
Oh, and I'm not deluding myself into thinking I'll be accepted into San Francisco's uber elitist bike culture. I can't anyway, because my bike isn't a fixie, and I don't manifest my taste for blood, and/or death by weaving in and out of traffic on 45-degree angled hills. My sense of self-preservation is too great.