It always seems to happen this way. Big plans lead to big let downs, and I’m left shaking my fist in the air at the non-existent fates.
The new apartment, while phenomenal, was feeling a bit claustrophobic as we’d spent nearly all of the past 4 days in its chambers. The repetitive cycle of opening a box, staring into its depths, deciding there was no place yet for its contents, pushing the box aside, and opening another box had led me down a path of dull listlessness. ‘Just keep chugging along’, I reminded myself. Finally, I could stay no more. My heart leapt at the thought of the wind blowing past as I sped down new neighborhoods without abandon.
Oh how I love this bike. Except when I don’t. It’s never really the bike’s fault when I cannot ride. Suppose that makes these times more irritating.
Remember the first time this year that I tried to ride to work?
2,500 miles jammed in a truck across country made for one cranky bike. I walked it out of the garage with my excitement building slowly from my toes through my knees. It paused there. The tires were woefully flat. Oh well. NBD. All tires should be check at least every few weeks, and it had been a while. I sat out on the hot blacktop working my handpump. Ever so slowly, the psi increased. Nearly finished, I pulled away my hand too quickly and sliced a finger on my gears. Grumble grumble. NBD. Nearly ready. My chain was sitting a little odd, but it adjusted easily. Dirty fingers. NBD. The bike seat seemed a little low, but the former girl scout in me just grabbed a little wrench and resituated it to my height and began to tighten. Odd. The seat still wouldn’t stay up. The ring that clenched the seat mount was ripped right through the metal. That g*(#)$&*@^ ^&$#*&@ ^&# Bike!
You made me grumpy. In California. Way. To. Go.