Bicycles

They keep you fit, keep you interesting, let you live dangerously, afford the opportunity to affix small cane baskets and loud horns with rubber bulbs, and they're the subject of an early Pink Floyd song by Sid Barrett:

I've got a bike. You can ride it if you like.
It's got a basket, a bell that rings and
Things to make it look good.
I'd give it to you if I could, but I borrowed it.

You're the kind of girl that fits in with my world.
I'll give you anything, ev'rything if you want things.

I ride mine in my suit through a park where bikes are proscribed, no hands, down an avenue of elms, twice a day. If I had a garage, then I would have 5, and one would be a fixed gear track
bike: no gears, no brakes, no suspension, just a frame, a seat, a handlebar, some wheels, and a chain. Simply, beautiful. Light as hell; expensive, and impractical.

The photo I stole from Michael Rowley also from San Fransisco, goddammit, masquerading at Flickr as Mnemonix.