Brain-deficient-flamingo A.k.a: Bicycle painting olympics on crutches

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Number 173 on the list of “things I can do while stuck with crutches” (probably between “172: learn how to use said crutches as a door-opener / light-switch-turner /anything that cultivates a Dr House vibe” and “174: moaaaan”), is (re)paint my bicycle.
Because why not?
I have this amazing bicycle. Did I not yet rant about it, it’s amazing, I tell you (I’m not sure I stressed that enough: it’s sheer amazingness!!).
Anyway.
I had a very old bicycle for about 10 years (well, it was more-or-less new at the beginning), that survived so long mostly because I had painted it in every single color of the rainbow, with a poem from Paul Eluard written on it, then added some Tibetan prayer flags and a ridiculous horn. Because otherwise, bicycles get stolen at an amazing speed, around here.
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Anatole, in its youth (and in light-weight- form, that is minus the horn and the Tibetan prayer flags, because we were going on a tour of the Alps)

So it survived and reached a natural death – an unlikely event for a bicycle, as previously said – about 2 years ago, but since I’m a stubborn ecologist-freak, and mostly too lazy to buy a new one, I kept repairing it even if it was falling apart faster than you can say inner tube.
In December, I gave in, said goodbye to Anatole (yes, I do name my bicycles, it’s a special kind of relationship when you’ve been risking certain death in the Geneva traffic for so long together), and bought a new one.
And I really felt like Harry Potter at his first broom lecture, now I know what it must feel like to fly. And frankly any less-ancient bicycle might have felt amazing compared to the faithful but heavy and cranky Anatole, but That (it doesn’t have an name yet, any suggestions?) is another species altogether.
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It’s apparently called a Focus Fitness/arriba. I think it deserves a better name

And I really shouldn’t keep going on and on about that, because it reminds me I can’t use it right now (reason number 154 I’m slightly annoyed with my left knee).
So, instead of using it, I started painting it, because first, a boring red-and-black bicycle doesn’t really suit me (I’ll agree, it is stylishly boring, but still), and because it’s the best kind of anti-theft device you could find.

Now you should know I am not – that much – of a bicycle freak (yes, I am aware everything I wrote so far might lead you to believe otherwise): I didn’t do it according to the gospel of bicycle tuning: that is, pull it apart one piece after another until only the frame is left, sandpaper the bike frame to erase the present paint, then spray it, then start painting on it. Because I’m unable to do so on one leg. Because I don’t have fancy metal-only-spray-paint. Because I can’t be bothered.
So I painted it black, (I do have resistant paint, it lasted 10 years on Anatole, with the same “why-the-f.-not technique”, so at least it’s an evidence-based process), and started having fun.
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that’s how it looked after the first day

At some point, I was trying to paint the inner part of the fork (the thing around the front wheel), from the other side (because moving to the right side would have meant:
1)fetch the crutches
2) travel around the bicycle carrying one paint tube after the other (x10)
3) the same with paintbrushes
4) the same with the stool
5)probably collapse from exertion.
So I was bent over the bicycle at a strange angle, balancing on my right leg while my left was half resting on a stool, while singing (very badly) “An die Musik“, which has been in my head for a few days now, I have no idea why.
My roommate came home at that moment. Luckily, she doesn’t have any illusion about my utter lack of sanity, so she didn’t even ask a single question.
I think this qualifies as an advanced yoga pose, maybe the “struck by lightening stork” or the “brain-deficient-flamingo”. In any case, it is an acrobatic sport!
So here’s the work in progress:
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Here’s the work a bit later:
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acute Whitmanization (yes, that is now officially a word) in progress

And if I keep going on at that speed, I think it’s going to take me a few weeks,  maybe even enough to keep me busy until I can use my left leg again (without even mentioning the other stretching and “leg-reinforcing” advantages that sport clearly offers).
Any suggestions for the name of said-amazing bicycle are welcome. Maybe I should just call it “brain-deficient-flamingo”.

 

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