I'll Get To It Later.
I broke my right shifter on the ti bike over two weeks ago. I ordered a replacement the next day, plus another one for good measure, both of which came in a couple days later. Amazing turnaround there.
The bike is still broken, thrown unceremoniously on the floor of the garage, another obstacle to negotiate when I dare to venture past the relative safety of the trainer dungeon. I usually have to step over it to grab my faithful Madone 5.2 Pro for the weekly ride at the Dome. Each time a rush of shame and regret washes over me, partially because of the state of my trusty ti road bike (filthy and broken) and partially because of the state of my Madone (filthy).
Washing the bikes in the winter is never an easy thing for me, because of the lack of available floor space. Most of them are in good shape because wash them before the weather gets too bad and hang them up, but the ones I ride right up until the ice and snow close in generally stay crusty and greasy until I rebuild them in the spring. These bikes, which see the hardest use, are the ones I ride at the Dome. Crusty and squeaky, I try to coax them along until I can find the time and space to make them sparkly again.
Somewhere, under one of the piles of rubble, is my travel bike box. In that box, along with my travel pump, spare parts, and other things needed for travel is a bunch of bike wipes. They're very useful, and so I make sure they're inaccessible when I need them most. When it warms up enough for me to open the garage and clean things up, thus freeing the wipes from their shallow grave, I will have access to my hose and won't need them anymore. I'll use them during summer trips, then bury them again in the fall. It's not an efficient system, but it's the one I use. Sure, I could take them out of the case so they were readily available and less likely to dry out, but what's the fun in that? I prefer the adventure of being woefully unprepared for eventualities that anyone could see coming from a mile away.
I'll get there. I'll scoop out a clear space in the debris and start wrenching. A few hours of work will erase the evidence of months of neglect. All will be forgiven. At least I hope so. Hopefully bikes don't hold grudges and concoct elaborate revenge plots.
If they do, I'm screwed.
The bike is still broken, thrown unceremoniously on the floor of the garage, another obstacle to negotiate when I dare to venture past the relative safety of the trainer dungeon. I usually have to step over it to grab my faithful Madone 5.2 Pro for the weekly ride at the Dome. Each time a rush of shame and regret washes over me, partially because of the state of my trusty ti road bike (filthy and broken) and partially because of the state of my Madone (filthy).
Washing the bikes in the winter is never an easy thing for me, because of the lack of available floor space. Most of them are in good shape because wash them before the weather gets too bad and hang them up, but the ones I ride right up until the ice and snow close in generally stay crusty and greasy until I rebuild them in the spring. These bikes, which see the hardest use, are the ones I ride at the Dome. Crusty and squeaky, I try to coax them along until I can find the time and space to make them sparkly again.
Somewhere, under one of the piles of rubble, is my travel bike box. In that box, along with my travel pump, spare parts, and other things needed for travel is a bunch of bike wipes. They're very useful, and so I make sure they're inaccessible when I need them most. When it warms up enough for me to open the garage and clean things up, thus freeing the wipes from their shallow grave, I will have access to my hose and won't need them anymore. I'll use them during summer trips, then bury them again in the fall. It's not an efficient system, but it's the one I use. Sure, I could take them out of the case so they were readily available and less likely to dry out, but what's the fun in that? I prefer the adventure of being woefully unprepared for eventualities that anyone could see coming from a mile away.
I'll get there. I'll scoop out a clear space in the debris and start wrenching. A few hours of work will erase the evidence of months of neglect. All will be forgiven. At least I hope so. Hopefully bikes don't hold grudges and concoct elaborate revenge plots.
If they do, I'm screwed.
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