The bike is BACK.

The bike I thought was abandoned for so long that disappeared the minute I blogged about it last week, has rematerialized. And I met the owner, a self-described busker who lives in a blue van full of musical equipment parked nearby. He leaves the bike there to use when he’s in town so as not to have to drag the van around.

Big bearded bear, friendliest guy in the world, with a mandolin for a heart and a palm-pilot for a head. He could recite the date and time of every eviction and every ensuing court appearance and the code numbers of laws broken and rights violated -- not to mention the complicated ins and outs and ironies of the social service system.

In his spare time he keeps busy representing himself in lawsuits against landlords and jailers unduly prejudiced against him for his habit of cultivating his own marijuana which he needs for his spinal cord injury.

He overflows with all these stories, and more, and if you’re willing, and you have the time (lots of time) he’ll tell them. As I left he was pulling out his mandolin -- I might’ve been treated to a song. I wish he’d started out with the music and saved the stories for last because by then I was plum out of time and energy.

In a parting word of unasked-for advice, I suggested it might be a good idea not to leave his bike untouched in one spot for so long because the police might think it was abandoned and pick it up. He laughed, with a dismissive not-to-worry wave. “Nah! The police know ALL about me!”