Christmas Comes Early

I was stewing about my camera. I figured I knew exactly where it fell out of my pack -- on the Brooklyn Bridge. Or maybe in the bathroom at Battery Park (yuck). Or maybe when I was hamming it up for a photo near the East River. If I lost it at any of those locations, I knew I could write my camera's epitaph. Before doing so, I decided to call the one store I happened to step into that day -- the bike shop.

First I have to tell you how unimpressed with that bike shop Arthur and I were. We had to beg them to pump up our tires -- something they clearly hadn't done often because the "mechanic" yanked the valve right off of my bike. Then he gave Arthur a bike so small his knees hit the handlebars. And the woman who headed out just before us was back in two minutes because her bike basket had fallen off. Sigh.

I called anyway. And they had my camera! Woohoooooo! I went to pick it up yesterday and celebrated the rest of the afternoon by doing some Christmas shopping! Some people are really going to benefit from my irrational exuberance.

Here's one of the recovered photos from my camera: I am resting (in full ham mode) having ridden halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge.