Dear fellow Spokanites,
It's good to be back.
I've seen the bowels of bureaucracy, and believe you me, the view from up here is much better.
Let me introduce myself. My name is Polly Valentine. We may have met briefly last fall when I started pedaling up a pylon on the Maple Street Bridge. Alas, my journey was temporarily, forcibly derailed for a bit. But now I'm back, fully reinstated as the Sisyphus of Peaceful Valley, eternally pedaling but never getting far. (These brand new black braces anchoring my bike wheels to the concrete certainly don't help. Thanks, Office of Public Works.)
But really, I don't mind. From my perch, I can gaze across the tops of houses down Clarke Avenue or watch neighbor kids playing below. One little girl is here now with her own pink bike, spinning circles in the cul-de-sac.
She was one of the first to arrive. But more and more people are coming out to the street. We're all pretty happy to be reunited, so a couple dozen neighbors are gathering for my welcome back party. I have to say I'm touched. I didn't realize I meant so much to the block.
Well, well, look who it is! Lisa! So good of you to come! Yes, Mayor Brown and I go way back. She and council member Kitty Klitzke made sure to get me back up here. But I'm actually her predecessor, in a sense. I started my journey last October, before Brown was even elected.
How did I start my journey, you ask? You think you're so sneaky! If you think I'd slip up and reveal who made me, you're more naive than I thought. You think everyone down there doesn't know, too? Of course they do. But you'll never get it out of them. Not even the kids. Trust me, those lurking journalists have tried again and again. But they're doomed to fail! It's our little secret. If you really need a name for print, just call my artistic progenitor "Bikesy."
Oh, the mayor is starting her speech. Gather round, neighbors, and gaze up at me, almost restored to former glory! Yes, what a triumph — the city gracelessly removed me last November, saying that it isn't "safe" for citizens to "attach anything to public property," but now they've decided to put me back, more secure but a little worse for wear.
I don't have the range of motion I used to have in my feet or hands, which makes it hard to grip the handlebars. The peace sign is almost completely smeared off my helmet, which makes me sad. To be honest, I can't quite remember all that happened to me in the underbelly of the public works department to make me fit to be an official member of the city art collection.
But it's over now, and I'm here, and no one will come to take me down again. I'm more than thankful for that. I'll tell you what — government protection helps me sleep at night. No more jump scares of a rogue cherry picker and apologetic city worker with a swirling drill. That's more than the riderless bike in the middle of the river next to Sandifur Bridge can say. Are we related? You fool! Adorable that you think I would fall for that.
The mayor is finishing her short remarks by asking if anyone else wants to say something. But us Peaceful Valley folks aren't really the speech-making types. We all know what happened, we're all special to each other, and we don't need to beat a dead horse.
The neighbors go home for the rest of the evening, but I've still got friends around. On every pillar down here there are portraits of real kids who used to live in the neighborhood in the '80s. They're a bit worn — to be honest, the empty eye sockets and blank expressions were a little hard to get used to at first. But they're delightful and we're total pals now.
Turns out, we're what makes this place weird and wonderful and home. And it's good to be home.
Cordially yours,
PV ♦
