Thawing Salt on My Bike

Today I rode my bicycle to the self-service wash bay at the gas station to redeem it from the accumulated grime of winter streets. The machine swallowed two euros before allowing me to take command of the cleaning artillery. The commander promptly presented me with a decision: Foam or Clear Water? Naturally, water with foam!

I took the cleaning gun – a heavy device – in hand, aimed at the crust of dirt, and pulled the trigger. The recoil of the powerful water pressure nearly hurled me out of the wash bay. I bent my knees slightly to better counterbalance with my body weight. The foaming water surged with a roar. The soap bubbles reared up like spray on the waves of Baltic Sea surf.

What a cleansing feeling to relieve the bicycle’s metal from further calamity caused by road salt. “Watch out for the hubs!” I saw a former fellow student in a polo shirt call out with hands clasped above his head in my mind’s eye. OK, OK, I will.

By now I could barely make out my trusty steed. It was buried somewhere beneath the mountain of suds. My sense of time slipped away. “I’ll have to rinse off the soapy lye too – those two euros must be nearly spent by now,” I thought to myself. So I released the trigger of the cleaning cannon.

The crown of foam towered far beyond the wash bay. I fought my way past the trunk to the main switch of the system. With outstretched arm I reached the lever and switched to “Clear Water”. For a moment I admired the mountain of foam dreamily. Somehow it looked proud. If the soap bubbles weren’t condemned to burst sooner or later anyway, I would have wanted to preserve it. But I won’t abandon my wiry companion to the mixture of water and soap. And between you and me, I need my bike.

The time had come to bring about the Armageddon of the foam. What I had created, I had to tear down. I positioned myself with staggered legs before the rearing mountain and pulled the trigger once more. Gallons per second shot from the fire hose and crashed into the mountain of foam. Now things moved quickly – the mountain became a hill, which in turn became a cairn, until I recognized my bicycle again.

The last soap residue was washed away. Somewhere in the wash bay a motor rattled to a stop. Shortly after, the torrent of water ceased. That was two euros well spent.

I put the gun back in the system’s holster. My bike was redeemed from all grime. On the way home I heard it breathe a sigh of relief. A good deed. I feel effective!

That concludes the article. If you spot any typo or would like to share your thoughts on this article, please feel free to get in touch. 🙆‍♂️