When I was 15 I was given a bicycle for my birthday (how original!). I rode on it everywhere, and mastered the art of not falling off whilst drunk (which I used as recently as yesterday).
The day after my 15th birthday I fell off it (not drunk) at a big traffic intersection close to my house and had to wheel it home whilst wheezing with my bruised ribs. So we've had our ups and downs together and it has gone through different set-ups and incarnations, including time-trial supreme (I added some Cinelli drop down bars and SPDs, though it was frankly a waste of time in suburban Manchester when noone cared about cycling in the UK and I kept on falling over at traffic lights).
|It's so beautiful that you could even get a tattoo of it on your leg|
15 years later, my dad asked me what did I want for my birthday and it seemed fitting to haul this out of the garage, put some new wheels on it (i.e. the birthday present), bring it over to Yangon, and do it up for its 3rd re-incarnation (the 2nd reincarnation was in London when I switched it to a single speed and fell off it even more painfully than when I was 15, leaving half of my left knee on Fleet Street).
15 years is also about the amount of time required for me to forget how often the bike punctures and so I've forgotten how much of my youth was waster changing inner tubes.