I had been on the bicycle market for some quite some time, encountering great difficulty in finding a frame that would complement my petite size and babysitter's budget. As I had almost completely resigned myself to the idea of devoting a month's pay to finally just buy one, I was blessed by the benevolent bicycle fairy in the form of an unclaimed cruiser in the cellar of a Fort Greene apartment building. Although upon discovery it was thickly coated with a layer of gray dust, its potential as the perfect pink bicycle (the exact color I had been looking for) was easily recognizable.
And so, after being absolutely certain that its owner was no longer a tenant, we set to work. The first thing was to bring it to the local bike shop to see just what needed fixing. I don't know much about how bicycles work, but to have whatever needed tuning tuned it only cost $16. That same day, I took it for a test ride out and about Brooklyn. Aside from minor discomfort as the seat was a little too low for cozy cruising, it was a perfect fit.
Cleaning was the biggest task. Not only was it filthy, but there were stickers to be removed and dried plaster to be peeled. Three Swiffer cloths, countless paper towels, one ruined rag, and a chipped nail later, it was starting to look brand new. It was a mutual decision to retain the bike's "Operate Slowly" sticker, partly because removing it would leave a dark gray box where the pink paint used to be, and also because it's kind of cool.
Next was the adjusting; I needed some help with that. Gripping one screw in one wrench and the other haphazardly with another tool, Mr. Steven Matt, green guru and my assistant for the afternoon, successfully raised the seat to a snug sitting position for someone of my height. We also found that the handlebars could be adjusted, making the bicycle even more awesome.
One last quick dusting and voilà! My brand new reclaimed bicycle was finished.
I understand that not everyone can be so fortunate as to find an adorable bicycle without an owner in a Brooklyn basement, so by way of One-Earth.com is a solution:
Recycle-a-Bicycle. Recycle-a-Bicycle is a retail shop specializing in reclaimed bicycles. While you're on One-Earth, you can read about other bicycle related transportation solutions as well.
This is how a popular prom dress shopping site, edressme.com, feels inexplicably compelled to accessorize an organic dress (70% bamboo, 30% cotton) by eco-designer Kate D'Arcy, with an ugly, obnoxious, and oversized fake pink flower ::shudder::. Cause you know, nothing says green like a cheap and unnecessary outfit add-on. Lame.
A few weekends ago, when my reclaimed bicycle was first ready, part of my inaugural ride included a trip out to the Ikea in Red Hook. On my way through the store to check out, I stumbled across some shocking merchandise: rocks. Yes, rocks. A little bag full of small, polished, homogenous rocks. Not only would that purchase, no matter how cheap, be a gross waste of money (because, oh, rocks are only EVERYWHERE), but it's an egregious exploitation of the earth. It's analogous to companies putting water in a bottle, and selling it as if it was anything different than what comes out of your sink. Rocks are rocks, and you don't need Ikea to entice you to buy them. 
Majora Carter, the Environmental Justice Activist and founder of Sustainable South Bronx, gave a rousing speech on sustainability this afternoon at the Bronx High School of Science graduation at Lincoln Center. Carter grew up in the South Bronx, where she first began her environmental efforts in the early 1990s. The South Bronx faces significant pollution problems, especially in terms of industrial waste. In a 2008 interview with CNN (and in today's address), she listed among them: "The South Bronx Handles 40 percent of the city's commercial waste. We have a sewage treatment plant, a sewage sludge palletizing plant, four power plants and the diesel emissions from about 60,000 diesel truck trips each week. Those are not nice places to be around. They have a pretty severe health crisis associated with them."
I am having trouble coming up with something intelligent to say about anything (bad case of rainy Monday laziness compounded with writer's block), and so, I am going to write about my lunch: edamame. I was first introduced to the soy snack my freshman year at NYU, when a night "out" meant heading to the local hole-in-the-wall Japanese eatery for sake bombs. Small plates of edamame were distributed by a wary waitress amidst rowdy cheers and table slams. One salty pod in, and I was hooked.
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