Father's Day.

The plan was to ride for three hours, doing some climbing and just getting in some miles. Continue rebuilding from the Tour of Fairbanks wreck, which still affects my sustained power significantly.
 
That was the plan. Plans change.
 
The wife had a culture camp to prepare for, and needed me to watch the kids for a few hours. Looking outside at the steady rain falling and trees swaying in the wind, I had no problem with this. Maybe it would clear up in the meantime. A few hours of lazing around and playing with my son on a rainy day sounded relaxing.
 
I had gotten beaten up on the bike the previous day. I planned on doing repeats up Potter Valley, but the gusts I experienced climbing had me stopping at Lower Potter. The descent was pucker-inducing, and I was pushed from lane to lane without warning. I sought less wind-buffeted climbs with limited success, before throwing in the towel and deciding to go for lowland miles. When I finally got to the sheltered areas, I had little left in the tank. Then I got mixed up in the Mayor's Marathon to a small degree, weaving through runners who looked worse than I did. I had completely forgotten about the event, because running is stupid and should be avoided at all costs. That's why God invented bicycles.
 
Given how little I had done on the ride, I shouldn't have been tired. Instead, I was wrecked for the rest of the day. Wind can do that to you.
 
So, a couple hours delay sounded good to me. I'd pick it up when the wind and rain died down. Then a couple became a few. Then the few became "it's too late to ride if you want to sleep tonight". My plan changed from riding to sleeping on the couch with the toddler, with a continuous stream of Kipper episodes flowing from Netflix in the background. My abused body appreciated that option.
 
Eventually I had to get up, and wandered into the garage to work on the Storck so I could hang up the race bikes I'd been riding for the previous month while the sun was shining. Now that rain has returned to the realm of possibility, I need to keep those nicer bikes clean and more or less ready for race day. Plus, I have a trip to the east coast coming up, and the Storck is coming along with me. I'd rather not arrive and discover it's less than functional because of neglect. I have a lot of miles planned.
 
I fiddled a bit with the Storck's steerer tube spacer stack so it would mirror the position of the race bikes (and maybe get me a bit lower in the wind). I replaced the chain, which was grungy and past-due for a change. I aligned the derailleurs so that those shifter thingys on the handlebars actually did something. I cleaned it a little, but didn't go overboard because of the rainy rides it would soon face. I'll wash it before I pack it up for the trip.
 
As I worked on the Storck, I realized it was a good looking bike. My perception of it has been colored by all of the grief I encountered while trying to build it up initially, but it is a good-looking bike. I get more positive comments about it than I do about any of my other bikes. With the right set of wheels, it can look downright sexy. Part of is the exotic name. It's not a Trek or a Specialized or anything else you can find in a local bike shop. I haven't seen another Storck in town, or anyplace else I've ridden. You just don't see them. Another part is the understated graphics and paint. It doesn't scream at you like most other bikes. The thin fonts on tasteful paint draw your eye in and allow them to wrap around the round tubes. It looks custom, even if it's not. It's just a good-looking bike, something that you don't see a lot of in the bike lane.
 
So, for Father's Day I got to be lazy and I got a new appreciation for a bike. Hope your day was as good.

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