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man and his bike

The bike laid next to a "Bike Vancouver" bike rack quietly and stubbornly. Her skeleton was black and a small pink Kryptonite held her close to the rack. She was brutally minimalistic. Without a kickstand, she's leaning against the small steel structure, resting her entire weight, light but sturdy, on the support. I took a step closer and realize she's without brakes. I frowned, and the bike simply stared back defiantly. With a skinny Brooks saddle, placed rather high up compared to the handlebars, I knew the owner was a savvy hardcore biker.
In between the spokes, a picture of a woman - perhaps an actress or singer from the 70s that I couldn't recognize - was nicely placed, but precariously. What is the rider trying to say about himself? He also is riding without lights or a rack. No stickers, no colours, no visible brand name. You'd think he's a humble and low-key personality, but the small touches of customization makes me feel he's trying to say something about himself, but I am not his audience.
Meanwhile, next to the rush hour traffic on Broadway, the small bike was still standing obediently. The chains and paddle were painted red, a small contrast to the stark black that dominates her body. A fixie. A warrior. I nodded at her, acknowledging her strength, and I think she understood my respect.

I turned around to leave when the owner suddenly appeared and I couldn't help but ask, though I already the answer, "Is this your bike?"

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