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I had two dreams that I remembered parts from from the past week. The first one was from several nights ago. I was in a derelict building, that looked like it was bombed out in a war. One wall was completely removed and the interior of each floor was strewn with rubble. There was a group of us and we were tasked to meander through the wreckage to get out of the building and over to another, less damaged building.
It felt like some third person maze game as I had to pick my way around all of the garbage and debris that was lying around. Some older lady was ahead of me, but was having trouble getting through. I managed to get out in a timely manner.
The second dream took place the next night. I found myself riding my motorcycle at night, and the engine would keep dying on me. If I switched to a higher gear, I would be able to get the bike moving again, but eventually nothing would start it up again so I had to stop on the side of the road.
Since it was late at night, no motorcycle shops would be open, so I parked my bike in the parking lot of an industrial lot and found one shop in a phone book. After a quick call, I was able to get some guy to agree to take a look at the bike in an hour. Until then, I needed to find some transportation. I called up my dad, who picked me up, and we drove down the road. As we passed over a bridge, I saw some lights in the distance on the right hand side so I told my dad to drive on the left. The lights belonged to a group of bicyclers who were actually some relatives of mine going to watch some show by the beach. I could not join them because of my bike problems.
Eventually, my dad was able to drive to the shop, and he waited inside while I walked back to the bike to bring it over. When I got to the lot, I could not find my bike! I looked at the spot where I thought I had parked it and found a number of dimes and some debris on the ground. I kept the dimes, but could not piece together where my bike could have gone. One thought that crossed my mind was that two burly men could have picked up the motorcycle and taken off with it in a truck.
No sooner did I think that when two burly men walked out from one of the offices of the industrial complex. I was alone, and I little at a disadvantage, but after talking with the two, they told me that they took my bike into the shop that was there. I did not realize that there was a motorcycle shop there, nor that it was open so late an hour, but I walked in and saw quite a bit of commotion inside.
There was one guy who was fixing bikes, and a few other people helping him. They were working on this one bike which was the same colour as mine, but was not my bike. I inquired about my bike, and they told me that it probably was in the back and went to retrieve it. They brought back bike after bike, but none were mine. I began to worry that my bike was not here..
