Spent the day Saturday with the intent of clearing the garage enough to use the saw so that Tammy won't have to face a partially finished window seat... and true to form, ended up building a bike repair station instead.
I have no idea how she puts up with me.
Cleaned, poked, prodded, repaired... and replaced some extremely worn brake pads, and then got to ride through the river bottom to old town Castle Rock with my sweetheart. We puttered around, riding randomly on sidewalks as we waited for our favorite restaurant to open and talked about hats and gears and paint and all the stuff that makes up the random bliss that is our life together.
... and then we ate like kings while we jealously hovered over our bikes on the patio. So, sort of jealous kings with no armies or minions but with really divine crab claws and focaccia bread and free Coke refills.
And, Lo, it came to pass that after Saturday, it came to pass that it was Sunday, and yea, the trails did look exceeding tempting, yea, sore beautiful were the paths upon the mount. And we did dwell at home and did not tempt God nor his smiting by riding, and the rocks were wroth that there would be fewer people to bruise and rend.
But it was a close thing, and luckily Monday followed quickly thereafter.
Toiled merrily away all day today (yes, Monday) grousing about the fact that it snowed here this morning. Also, just to keep thing cheery, I sputtered and smoldered over the fact that the trails were going to be something like terra cotta soup and there was no way that I'd be able to ride. Made the day just fly by, really...
Thankfully, there were rogue servers that had to be 'rassled back into the corral and I stayed busy, but then, somehow, I ended up at home, and the clouds broke, and there were glimpses of blue amidst the lowering grey... and I am a weak, weak man. I rode.
The fruits of eight miles of slow pedaling, careful balancing (a foot put down in the primordial ooze would be swallowed to mid-shin, and not returned in a pristine fashion) are proudly displayed above.
Not pictured: much work with a stick clearing out my own weight in clay from the rear of the bike. Also not pictured: the fun of riding a mile, downhill, straight from the trail onto pavement with tires packed with mud. And then hitting 30 mph. Also also not pictured: the liberation of said mud in glorious arcs, earth set free from the surly bonds of gravity, and the pain of having that hit you smack in the forehead. Cars were giving me a nice thirty-foot bubble in which to be a dirt redistributionist, which just shows that nobody loves it when you try and commune with nature and traffic at the same time.
I love my bike. I love my wife more, but my wife loves me no matter what, and my bike only loves me when I'm pushing myself to be better.
We all need bikes.
-Ryan
