‘Twas a white Mongoose Californian, white mag wheels, a laid-back seat post, checkerboard pads ... 1980something... she took me everywhere, and I never once put any butter on the chain, or made an appointment for a tune up, or even, for that matter, tossed a bead of water across her and called it a bath ... alas, most days I dismounted in motion and left the bike where she lay, only to find her the next day eager to spray across the neighborhood streets all over again, wheelies and endos and skids to the constant dismay of all the porch-bound parents.