F.G.o.a.B.

South Slope today saw the triumphant return of Fat Guy on a Bike. Fat Guy on a Bike and I go way, way back to nearly three years ago when I first moved to the neighborhood. He was a staple of our block then, just like he is now -- a very large man with a very large gut on a very tiny bike, which he pedals at a slow speed, wobbling back and forth as if a slight push might topple him over. Is he swerving because of unfavorable stomach-to-bike ratio, or out of sheer drunkenness? It's hard to say. But he was always silent, a little sleepy-looking, going wherever he was going with a quiet determination (except for one time when I saw him coasting down a hill at breakneck speed. That was scary).

However, at some point about a year and a half ago, I couldn't help but notice that FGoaB was strangely absent from my morning walks to the subway. My first thought was that he'd died. He didn't seem to be the healthiest of individuals, alternately swerving through traffic on the bike or, on some days when the gut got the best of him, just standing, silently leaning over the bike with his head bowed. But no -- just a day or two later, his existence was re-confirmed when he was spotted sitting outside of Mike's Deli Grocery on a metal folding chair that held his weight about as precariously as the bike did.

Fat Guy on a folding chair was not nearly as mellow as he'd been on the bike. Sometimes he'd be sitting silently, but other mornings he'd yell gibberish at no one in particular in front of the deli. Clearly, a symptom of bike withdrawal.

This goes on for about a year, and then, today, just like a miracle, the bike was back. He wasn't riding it, mind you, but walking it, very slowly, up to the front of his house. Did he regain power over the gut and decide to ride again? I'd like to think so.

Ride on, FGoaB. Ride on.