Rasta Beater, Man

Behold, the humble college beater bike. Hand-painted, sticker-adorned, saddle-askewed, often as not ill-maintained and of questionable dependability. It serves without reward, an old dry chain, a flat rear tire, loose cranks, wobbly wheels, brakes that may or may not work, and mis-matched pedals, its life is not one of glamour. Quick sprints across campus (Zeus willing) in the morning and afternoon, then unceremoniously dumped with a hundred similar others, onto an outdoor bike rack. There it waits through the cold of the night, the heat of the day, rain, maybe even snow. 

What a life.

They carry their riders to make, and meet, new friends. They may carry their riders to start a life in tandem with a significant other. In to town for food and drink. Out to the stadium to watch the game. The carry their riders to a brighter future. What more could you ask, what more could you want.

What a life.


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