I was 14 when I got my first 10-speed bike. My mom got it for me for Christmas. Four months later, the bike was stolen inside a Brooklyn drug store where I had gone to pick up a prescription for a friend. My mom was devastated for me, but not enough to replace the bike. I had to do that on my own. With no job and no money I built my own bike with spare and donated parts, including an Italian racing frame from the friend for whom I had gotten the prescription. It was orange. Other than that, it was the best bike ever, faster and lighter than the one my mother bought. I think about that bike som…