San Jordi Flea Market was quiet at 10am on a Saturday morning. “Right, I think last week the bikes were over by the fence” T said. The boys started to head in that direction but I broke off. “Back here at 11am, S” A instructed.
I left them to it, after all there can be no finer experts in this particular type of hunting than a couple of mountain bike trail blazers.
Sunshine shone on an assortment of stalls offering everything from tablecloths to vintage record players, ornamental ducks to jewellery, books, clothes, and dolphin clocks. This was a market with everything.
One €1.30 coffee later, I spied the boys. “Any luck?” I asked. “Yeah, well we found one but it’s overpriced and he won’t give it to us for any less.” “How much?” “€40. But there could be any number of things wrong with it – and we don’t want to get a call from you saying: ‘Pick me up, the chain’s come off.’” A said.
“It was a good bike” said T slowly.
We went to take a look at her. There was a fair amount of standing around, hands on hips, investigating further. “Take her for a spin, S. See what you think.” I thought she was mighty fine – but I feel at home on practically any bicycle so I was in my element. “I’ll give you something towards it on the grounds I can use it when I’m here over the summer.”
The deal was done and I cycled her back to the van. “How about Betswana for a name” T asked. “Hmmm, not sure.” I lifted her into the back of the Ford Transit and A propped her up carefully.
Next stop was the beach. “Fancy jumping off some rocks today S?” A asked. “No! Definitely not!” T turned around and smiled. “How about we call her ‘Sarah’?” I shrieked with delight. A took a while to respond. “Yeah, okay, that’s a nice name for her” he concurred.
Back at the casa early evening I ventured towards the garage. The boys were about eight beers down and Sarah was propped up in a faint state of disarray. “We’ve stripped her down; the grease had turned into glue – like sap from a tree. She’s looking sweet now though. Want to take her for a spin?”