Waiting on a Color

The summer I graduated high school I had my eye on a car for sale at the Standard on 54th and Kedzie. It was a fastback, 1950-52, Chevy or Pontiac, the color a deep maroon. I tried to talk my father in letting me buy it. “Where would you get the parts to fix it?” he asked, very sensibly. And so I never bought my maroon fastback, instead settling on a Schwinn Varsity in campus green. Fewer parts to worry about, you might say. But now I have a 1972 Schwinn Sports Tourer in opaque green. One of the Lone Gunmen at my Schwinn dealer called it “the real deal,” down to the original tires (now replaced). Not a speck of rust anywhere, just some scratches in need of paint. Only, where do you find fifty-one year old paint? Another of the Gunmen suggested nail polish, so I hit CVS, Target and Walgreens. Let’s just say I didn’t feel comfortable checking colors. Then it was online to see if anyone sells vintage Schwinn paint. Somebody does, sort of, a formulation of the classic stuff, or so they say. I’m waiting on a bottle of touchup now. If that doesn’t work, then it’s off on a twenty-mile ride to a hobby shop that advertises over 5000 paint colors. All I want to do is trick the eye of passersby on the bike trail, but, if I can get a perfect match, that’s OK, too. Too bad Schwinn didn’t do maroon that year.