Tripping Hazard.

Pretty much every day I clomp through my garage in my road shoes on the way to the trainer dungeon. The slick concrete floor is a archeologist's dream, with neatly layered strata of all of the poorly-executed projects acting as a historical record of my ineptitude. Binding the refuse is a combination of dirt, ski wax, motor oil, and other unidentifiable substances that would likely put me on a no-fly list if anyone was brave enough to venture in to test it.
 
Rather than actually do any sort of comprehensive cleaning to remove the debris, I've chosen a different track. Over the years I've developed ninja-esque skills to dance from clear-ish spot to clear-ish spot in road cleats. Fred Astaire would be green with envy. I may not be able to turn over the pedals with reasonable aptitude in those shoes, but I can do the mashed potato like James Brown when confronted by a jungle of discarded derailleur cable housings and old bar tape.
 
Lately I've upped the ante and added a couple bike frames to the mix, and I'm starting to push my luck. The "trainer dungeon traverse", as my sherpas have taken to referring to it, requires a double back handspring back tuck. If you don't stick the one-footed landing in the rear triangle of the Litespeed frame and immediately execute the Thomas tuck and pike to avoid impaling yourself on the ski poles hanging from the bread rack next to the door, the Russian judge is likely going to dock you a few tenths. The bikes hanging from the garage ceiling mean you don't have a lot of vertical space to perform the maneuver, so the difficulty should be increased.
 
...or I could just clean up after myself before I rupture a spleen or something. I'm not sure where my spleen is, but it sounds like something I don't want to rupture. At my age, I'd be happy to not rupture anything if I can avoid it.
 
Sooner or later I'll find the time to clear a path through the garage. Hopefully this happens before road season starts so I can get the bikes out the door. By clear, I mean make the piles on either side higher and less organized. My goal is to create an Olympic Training Center from the rubble of my past interests.
 
I don't lack for hobbies.

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