When I was 14 yo I saved my money and bought a Bianchi Nyala. I rode that bike everywhere: to work, school, friends, just to get away . . . It was my first taste of freedom.

9 years later, I was severely obese and unhappy. I found the bike buried in my parents garage. Dusted her off, put some air in the tires, and began to ride again. And lost 150 pounds.

Then I met my husband and we did many bike rides around the neighborhood. He took me on my first single-track ride and I suffered greatly on my Nyala. I cried in pain as I climbed the last big hill, not willing to give up.

Then I fell in love with cycling (DH too) and more bikes came into the garage. And then babies followed. It was time to say good bye to the Nyala. We needed the room and some money.

It was a piece of junk. Rusty and falling apart. I thought it was going to be easy to sell it. However, I cried for days. I even went through a period of depression. I still miss her.