Cycle Commuter - Adventures in Bicycle Commuting

So that’s that. Another month gone by. All in all, not a bad one.

While the last week definitely dragged a little, yesterday felt like a perfect conclusion to the whole affair. Great weather, great people and a few good laughs. In the morning, G and I linked up and had a great conversation about nothing in particular. At the checkpoint, four more joined us and the good times continued. J even came out, though after a mile or so he sprinted off the front, apparently expecting G or I to go after him… we didn’t see him again until the locker room, where he was informed that a sample would be needed for a doping test.

Just as I was settling into my cube, G came over and asked if I had the Giro feed up. I didn’t. He looked at me, “Dude, pull it up. Di Luca and Ricco attacked and are way out with 5k to go.” We had chatted a little about the day’s stage while riding in, figuring that it and today’s would be where the shit went down. G and I were glued to the choppy video feed from cyclingfans, switching over to the live cyclingnews text updates periodically. I can only imagine that our coworkers were rolling their eyes at our excitement and potential slacking, but those minutes might well’ve been the highlight of the day…

But the highlight came with the afternoon rollout. The locker room was packed. Outside, bikes lined the wall while others stood with theirs, bantering with friends. Riders of all types—hardcore roadies, newbie commuters, battle-tested MTBers… all in one spot, sharing the same excitement for a sunny ride home. That we were all out there and all smiles, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride for what we were doing… however varied our reasons, however big or small our impact may have been, we were commuting by bike and we were doing it together.

G and I split off from the group at the checkpoint. At the foot of Little Euro, I looked at him and told him that there wouldn’t be any games, I had nothing left. My body was getting louder in its protests, especially my lower back and Achilles. Overuse and poor management (aka not enough stretching) resulted in tendinosis, and I was especially feeling it as we started up the hill. Dropping into the next valley and heading out across the flats, I felt it more with each pedal stroke. Fortunately, we made it into town without issue. As we were nearing the bridge, we passed a gal on a beautiful old Peugeot bike. I thought about telling her that she had a nice bike, but she had earphones in. G and I split up and I went to the pub to celebrate the completion of a goal with a shot of Jameson and a pint while reading the paper.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened during this morning’s commute, though I did see bus #38 run a red light after it’d hauled ass past me.

The ride home was equally uneventful. There was a bit of a headwind, which was a slight bummer. M caught me on the flats near town and sat on my wheel for a bit. When he popped around he was quite chatty… “Hey man, when you hitting a thousand?!?” Today, I replied. “Wow, man, that’s great… it’s a great feeling, huh? A huge milestone. I hit it a couple days ago. Incredible, huh?” I can’t say that I shared his enthusiasm at the time, but it did get me thinking. Of course, it’s all relative… for some, the thought of riding a thousand miles in a month might scare the shit out of ‘em… for others, it’s a drop in the bucket. For me, it’s a reaffirmation of the process.

M also asked what grade I’d give the weather for the month. I thought for a moment. “This year wasn’t as nice… definitely more bad weather and a lot more wind.” M replied that he’d give it a B-. Thinking about it, I wouldn’t say there was anything above average about the month, so I’m gonna say a C. The past two weeks have certainly been teh suck. Especially compared to the beginning of the month. This graph illustrates it nicely…

That’s for all the riders in the bike to work month contest. As you can see, last week saw a drop in miles ridden… especially Tuesday, which was an ass of a day, if I say so myself. While I suspect not everyone has reported their miles for this week just yet, I have a hunch that the average will continue its downward trend. I am, however, hoping that next year’s Bike to Work Day nets 100,000 miles. That’d be pretty cool.

Here’s to the last ride of the month… to hitting 1,050 miles… to goals… and especially to massage therapists and soaking in baths. Cheers.

The cottonwoods have been shedding their namesake in full effect along the trail, resulting in mini “snow” banks. There’s something tranquil about riding through a bunch of floating tufts of fuzz… even if they do collect in your helmet’s vents.

Honestly, today’s commute was just bizarre. Within five miles of leaving the house, I found myself zip-tying my rear fender onto the seatstay bridge to keep the fender from dragging on the tire. Then, as I rolled up to a stop light at the top of my morning climb, I heard a “pop”. Thinking it was the zip-tie, I checked my fender first… nothing. Thinking I’d been hearing things, I shrugged it off. Until, of course, I started rolling again and noticed something “funky” about the rear end’s ride… Looking down, I saw it immediately. Son of a bitch!! was about all my mind could conjure up. I’d busted a spoke. Drive side, at the head no less. Week-old wheel, busted spoke. Gotta love my luck.

So I zip-tied the busted spoke to another one and rode gently down the other side of the ridge. By the time I met up with K at the checkpoint, I wasn’t in the best of moods. I was fed up with all the mechanicals, flats and bad luck. I vented for a bit, with K mostly laughing at the absurdity of my various bike problems. Then, to add just an ever-so-slight bit of icing to the cake, I had a head-on collision with a bee—it flew at top speed, as far as I can tell, straight into the tip of my nose. Fortunately, it didn’t sting me… but that fucker still hurt.

At work I ran into the usual laughs of disbelief and shaking of heads. “Dude, you really do have shitty luck” was what I heard the most. Part of me knows that, yes, there is a bit of bad luck to it… but at the same time, as D put it, I’m riding about four times as much as most people ride in a month, so chances are I’m going to run into more issues. True… still doesn’t make me feel any better, though. Fortunately, I had an extra spoke left over from the One Way’s wheel building and D helped get me sorted out for the ride home.

I saw M in the locker room just as he was suiting up and I told him I’d catch up once I got rolling. Out the door and a bit cautious with the wheels, I started heading home. A few minutes later I caught up to K and V and chatted with ‘em briefly before excusing myself to go catch M; I told ‘em I’d wait at the trail where M turned off. Not too much further along I caught M, who was riding his new steel touring bike. We rolled at an easy pace for a bit, shooting the usual shit. I asked how he liked the ride quality of steel and he quickly confirmed that he loved it. Sweet—another steel convert.

Once saying farewell to M, I headed out with K and V for the next couple miles. We went our separate ways at the checkpoint and I headed up my first afternoon climb. Everything seemed to be going well… namely, no issues with the rear wheel. Then, while on the descent down the other side of the ridge, it happened.

This descent has always been a sketchy one. There’s no shoulder to speak of, and the road is pretty chewed up along the right side. I’ve found a few good lines that are easy to link together, but it requires a bit of weaving and commitment in spots. Typically, I fly down it around 25 to 30.

So, as I was flying down this descent, I happened to be in a particular patch of road where I had to keep a straight line (lest I drift into the deep cracks in the road on either side). Ahead, I saw a orangish blur of fur run across the lane, then take a sharp left and head straight toward me. There was nothing I could do—I was already on my bakes, but the combined speed of my descent and this dog’s mad dash resulted in an extraordinarily unfortunate encounter…

I know that I hit the dog. I felt the *thump thump* through my wheels and heard the yelping immediately. I thought for sure I’d cleaved the dog in half with my tires, given my speed, weight and my narrow tires. Skidding to a stop off to the side of the road, I turned around to see the owner picking the yelping Pomeranian up. I unclipped and turned around to go talk to the gal. I knew there was nothing I could’ve done, but I still felt horrible. If not cleaved in half, the dog had to have at least a couple fractures and perhaps severe internal injuries.

Once I made it up the hill to the owner’s house, the two people were inspecting their dog with amazement… it appeared that nothing was wrong with it. The man looked at me walking up and asked if I’d seen the person who hit their dog… All I could say was “I’m so sorry, but it was me who hit your dog… is it okay? I’m so sorry… it just ran out in front of me and I tried to avoid it…” They looked at me with astonishment; “Oh my god, are you okay??!? Did you crash? We’re so sorry, she’s never done that before!” We spent a few moments exchanging inquiries about the general well-being of everyone/thing… it appeared as though everything was okay, despite my serious doubts. Even little tiny dogs have adrenaline. I know mine was pumping at full force at that point. With reservations, I continued home. It took a little while for the adrenaline to work its way out of my system… my legs shook on the pedals for at least the next five miles. I think I may take that descent a little slower next time… just in case.

So, there you have it… another freakin’ weird day. To be honest, I’m glad there’s only two more days left of riding… ’cause I’m getting the impression that it’s time for me to take a break.

Four more days. 200 more miles.

The long weekend has offered some much-needed rest. Last week was unquestionably a trying one. While the multiple days of rain and headwinds chipped away at the euphoria left over from the previous week, the multiple flats felt like the real mood deflators. The bus situation, the increased frequency of riding solo and the physical toll of so much riding also contributed. Because of all these things, I found myself asking “Why am I doing this?”

It’s a good question. Fitness, gas savings… they’re great and all, but they’re not my driving force. The Challenge is, I suppose. Pushing myself to new levels, beyond what I’d previously achieved. Chasing my own demons. Though I can’t help but note that I’m “over” those things… in other words, they no longer hold much weight when I ask myself why I’m doing this. Nothing holds much weight when attempting to answer that question.

A few years ago, an acquaintance of mine hiked the PCT and pulled off with less than 200 miles to go until they’d hiked the whole thing. In the grand scheme of the hike, that distance was a drop in the bucket… however they felt that the only reason they were still on it was sheer stubbornness. They no longer enjoyed the process, the hike, the experience… and I respect them a great deal for making that decision and pulling off. In a way, I respect them more because of it.

BKW’s recent entry, The Well, is spot on. I’ve neared the bottom of the well, yet I know that I will bounce back and finish out this week, this month, with a smile. Four more days. 850 miles behind me… just 200 more to go. Almost there.

Then what?

One of these days, I’m going to buy a proper fisheye lens and start carrying my nice(r) camera. In the meantime, stitching it is.

Yesterday’s morning commute brought another flat, this one coming near the top of the hill. That made it three flats in just as many days. The puncture was very subtle and appeared to’ve been caused by a piece of grit that’d worked its way into a previous gash in the tire.

By the time I got rolling again I was running about ten minutes late, so I pushed to catch up with the morning group. Unfortunately, this meant pushing against a headwind once in the valley. I did eventually catch ‘em… but not until the last quarter-mile, and by that point I felt about as useless as one can get. When L looked back and gave me a morning greeting, I had nothing to offer in return and just blankly stared at him before I realized my manners and said “hey”.

At work, I skipped my lunch break and swapped out the old front wheel with the new one and switched the back tire to the front. Despite the tires being installed at the same time, the back one was noticeably more worn than the front… while this wasn’t much of a surprise to me, it was to another coworker. I joked with him that it’s because I just peel out too often, but the truth of the matter is that that’s just where the weight is.

The ride home was pretty decent, though traffic looked horrid. Lines of cars stopped on the freeway and idling at lights.

Before I forget to mention it, an amusing sight from earlier this week: a giant pickup roared past me one morning, and as it did so I noticed a big “Rebel” sticker across the back window, with another sticker that read “Kickin’ Ass and Guzzlin Gas!”… and the crowning touch was one of those trailer hitch nut sacks swinging in the wind. I should get a keychain-sized pair and hang ‘em off my saddle…

No major thoughts or happenings today. Rolled with M a bit before the climb (school bus passed us prior to the hill), met up with K at the checkpoint and rode an easy pace from there. Her legs were still toasted from Tuesday’s headwind, so she sat on my wheel for most of the ride in. Dunno why, but it was kinda nice just riding like that…

The ride home was similarly chill. Four of us rode together for eight miles or so and chatted a bit.

Back in the day, this used to be a standard on a number of mix tapes I’d make. Every once and a while it comes back up in rotation and reminds me to just take it easy.

Things are neither here…

Nor there…

Things felt good when I rolled out this morning. It was a little windy, but nothing like yesterday… plus I knew it’d be a tailwind once I got into the second valley. The climb up the ridge went decently enough. The guy who’s almost always waiting at the bus stop with his bike was there, and when he saw me he did this amusing little hand gesture pedaling motion… which made me chuckle as I waved to him.

Once down into the valley it started to rain a little. No worries, though… it was light and there was a tailwind. I was early to the checkpoint, but L showed up early as well and wanted to roll. Unfortunately, just as we hit the next checkpoint (and saw C and another guy from the train), I got a flat. I’d been suspicious for a quarter mile or so, but it didn’t really start losing air until we met up with the guys. I told ‘em to ride on; I didn’t want to hold ‘em up and felt like changing the tube out at a leisurely pace. As I did so, about a half dozen or so other riders passed–each of ‘em asking if I was alright. Good on ‘em.

I got rolling again without much issue and cruised along the trail solo. I saw the older couple who’re always walking their two dogs along the trail and waved and said hi, just like every other morning. Same thing last year–they were always on the trail, walking their dogs, and always said hello and waved.

Got in to work without issue, though I missed the last bits of Giro coverage.

Rode home solo, thinking I’d have a tailwind and spotty rain. I ended up with dead wind and rain a good portion of the way… and a flat at the top of the climb. When scouring the tire, I found an impressive chunk of glass impaled in the rubber. It looked like an ice pick. Again, I changed the tube out at a leisurely pace and got unholily dirty in the process. I was a bit paranoid for the rest of the ride into town. It started raining a bit harder, though since there was nothing that I could do I just shrugged. I did, however, resolve to stop at the pub to get out of the rain/wind, get something warm and watch the Champions final. I already knew the result, but I wanted to see Drogba get ejected for “slapping” Vidic.

I’m neither a Man U or Chelsea fan, but if I were forced to pick sides I’d go with the Red Devils… I can’t stand Drogba’s prima-donnaness. Sure, Rooney’s a liability as well, and Drogba has managed to pull off some beautiful goals… but the little slap just before going into a shootout (not to mention doing it in front of the official’s face) is about as stupid as you can get.

Just as there are days where everything seems to be perfect, there are days that suck a whole lotta ass. Today fell under the latter category.

I woke up around 5 and contemplated my options. I knew I could count on the ride in being sopping wet. The question was whether I grab the One Way, which has full fenders (but a handful of issues with the back wheel and freewheel), or put some likely-ineffective strap-on fenders onto the Double Cross. If I took the One Way, I’d have to ride around the hill, which would add around 5 miles and have me rolling through the heart of some heavy industrial areas (read: 16-wheelers). The only problem with taking the Double Cross was the lack of good fenders… oh, and the slight issue of the cassette being a little loose on the new hub (spacer got left on the old one). In the end, I grabbed the Double Cross.

Generally speaking, I don’t mind the rain. A while ago I learned that, especially around here, it doesn’t bode well for my riding habit if I don’t ride in the rain. Just gotta go into it with the right mindset and reasonable expectations. Stopping will be harder. Visibility won’t be so great. Things become slippery. You’ll get wet.

So I was doing alright by the time I got to the bottom of the morning hill. Not great, but alright. I’d settled into a slow pace as I made my way up. About three-quarters of the way up, however, I heard the school buses. A number of them head up the hill around the same time we’re on it. Typically, it’s not an issue… however, both G and I have noticed that there’s one driver who is particularly… troublesome. I wouldn’t say aggressive, but that’s giving them the benefit of doubt. For the past couple weeks, every time this school bus passes us, it’s usually too close and going too fast for comfort. This morning, it came within a few inches from hitting me and ended up crossing the white line of the shoulder not a few feet in front of me.

That rattled me a bit.

Once at work, I made a call and got bounced around a bit before I ended up talking with someone who said that they’d have a chat with the driver. Again, giving the driver the benefit of doubt, I know that buses aren’t exactly the best handling vehicles on the road and the driver may’ve just misjudged speed and distance. It didn’t feel that way, given the prior aggressiveness, however I know there’s two sides to every story.

A colleague suggested Pho for lunch, which ended up hitting the spot and allowing for some decompression time out of the office. The missing spacer on the cassette got sorted out, too, which was rad. Speaking of, the new “stop-gap” wheel has been in use a couple days… so far, so good. The hub (105) is barely audible just spinning it indoors, and on the road I can’t hear it at all… It might take me a while to get used to the silent coasting.

And then there was the ride home:

It’s been a while since I’ve ridden in such a strong, sustained headwind. NOAA said it’d be 17-20 mph. I believe it. My favorite moment was when I was on a downhill incline, coasting at about 18, and being slowed to 9 by just the wind. I got home in one piece, but I was more than a little exhausted. Body-wise, it feels like Friday… not Tuesday.

It was an off day.

I’m watching the 8th stage of the Giro at the moment and just saw Andy Hansen sit up and bang his bars after a long break in front of the peloton. I know that feeling. G and I talked about that feeling yesterday on our ride home. It’s the feeling of submission to The Wall.

Rewind back to yesterday’s morning commute. It was, to say the least, one of the best commutes I’ve ever had. If it weren’t for the 4 am roll-out, I’d probably do it more often. The roads were completely empty. There was barely any noise, aside from the birds and my freewheel (thankfully, R’s stop-gap measures for my rear hub worked). There’s something to be said for the experience of a city between 3 and 5 am. It is a world without distractions or a need for a heightened sense of awareness or paranoia. It is a world of empty roads, quieted by the shroud of night, yet optimistically awaiting the new day… which is hinted at by the slight change in hue along the horizon. It was peaceful.

It was also interesting. The few people you do manage to see beg the question “What are they doing around here at this hour?” At 6 am, there are many more people around so it’s easy to not notice them. At 4 am, it’s a whole other story.

Anyway, I was near-giddy the entire ride across the first valley floor and up the morning climb. The descent into the next valley reminded me of the roller coasters that are built indoors or have sections in complete darkness. My light was, of course, on… but flying down a curvy, unlit road felt just like that special breed of roller coasters, which play off the fear of the unknown. At the bottom, I could once again see the progress of dawn.

I stopped at the coffee shack again. “You’re a few hours early today.” True, I was… but I didn’t feel that way at all. If anything, I felt more awake and eager for the day. A motorcyclist, who had parked their set of two wheels off to the side, was amused by my position in the line of cars. “I bet it’s a great feeling to know you’re not wasting gas idling in line,” they said to me as they walked back to their Hog. In all honesty, I very rarely think of my riding in relation to gas usage. Sure, it’s an added bonus… and, in the beginning, it was definitely something I thought about… but now, it’s more about the riding itself.

A few weeks ago, one of the lunch ride guys made a comment to G that’s stuck with me for some reason or another… G had indicated he’d be skipping the lunch ride that day because he’d ridden in with me in the morning. The guy simply responded with “Pffft… commuter.” The amusing thing to me is that some of the strongest riders within the lunch group regularly bike commute and see it as a great way to build base miles. As one of ‘em said to me once “This [bike commuting] is like putting cash in an ATM… and it’s super-easy to withdraw the cash when you need it.” Of course, this would have more significance to me if I were interested itching that competitive twitch… which is certainly there. It just isn’t annoying me enough… yet.

The rest of the ride in along the trail was about as serene as one could imagine. Dawn was breaking, patches of mist hung in fields and near the rivers and the world was just waking up.

I made it to my destination just in time for the festivities to begin. It was quite a kick to see so many bike commuters out and about. The phenomenal weather forecast certainly helped coax a few people out, I’m sure. I was also pleased to see that the new rider who had joined our entourage the day before had ridden again. It’s not easy to get back in the saddle the next day after your first ride, after you’ve pushed yourself in a whole new way.

It isn’t very noticeable, but the Pugsley on the left has a basket attached to its seat tube. Best Pugsley mod ever. I also learned quite a bit about a number of coworkers… or rather, I learned what kind of bikes they ride. One colleague rolled up with the biggest grin I’d ever seen on his face… all he could say was “You gotta love a God that’ll give you a tailwind for 47 miles.” The rest of the day was a bit distracted, as people shared their various stories of commuting in. I ended up leaving with G around 1 and was quite amused to find several other riders getting ready to roll out for the day.

We rolled at a steady pace, shooting the shit per usual. I felt decent, given that it was the end of the week and I was riding on fatigued legs and 5 hours of sleep. As we climbed Little Euro (which still has some of its encouraging commentary on the road from the century a couple weeks ago), G commented to me “Just think how much it hurt to climb this a month ago…” After looking at my computer, my response was simply “A month ago, I was climbing this nearly twice as fast.”

Fatigue is a funny thing. However, G’s comment got me thinking. He’s right in a way, of course. Climbing is easier, and I’m sure I’d be flying up the hill if my legs were rested sufficiently. Mondays tempt me to push in order to see just how easy it’s become… however I rarely do push because I know that I’ll suffer the consequences throughout the week. I’m not riding to break records; learning to pace myself is the goal. However, with it being Friday and having two days of (mostly) rest ahead of me, I decided to test something out. Once around the sharp turn, with only a hundred yards to the top, I jumped. G of course reacted and overtook me within a few strokes… but I wasn’t riding against him. I wanted to see how much I could push myself.

It only took a few seconds out of the saddle before I hit The Wall. I had nothing left to withdraw from the ATM. So in seeing Andy Hansen sit up and bang his bars, I could only think to myself “I know that feeling.” It’s frustration. It’s realizing your limits. It’s finally listening to your body after ignoring it for so long. G and I talked about it the rest of the ride into town. I couldn’t help but think about the segment on Radio Lab about self-deception and how athletes who are able to consistently deceive or lie to themselves about their respective competitions do better. In other words, they’re able to shut up that voice that says “Stop.”

Of course, I’m not out to “win” anything. There are times when I’ll push myself, sure… but it’s nothing more than exploring my limits. I’ll toy with G’s honed sense of competition, but it’s kind of like the little kitten pawing at the nose of a Rottweiler. And that’s fine by me, because it’s more about riding than anything else… and when I’m riding–even when I’m fatigued beyond comprehension–I’m happy.

And speaking of happy… the above picture is of what is, for me, two blocks of bliss. Every ride home, no matter how grueling or stressful, I end up smiling for these two blocks… because I’m able to sit up off my bars and coast. I can’t put my finger on why this section is so perfect, but it is.

G laughed, “You don’t need an exorcist… you need a team car.”

On the ride home yesterday, my jockey wheels were squeaking like banshees so I decided to do a little bit of drivetrain maintenance when I got home. It was then that I discovered the extraordinarily bad state that my rear hub was in. Crunchy doesn’t begin to describe it. But there wasn’t anything I could do… I don’t have the tools or the competency to overhaul a hub. So I resigned myself to ride in on the wheel this morning and hope for the best.

I cringed as I rolled out this morning. It sounded wretched. It sounded as though I was destroying all things smooth and metal with stubborn, unlubed movement. I contemplated riding the One Way all the way in… but the wheels on it are in no better shape, if not worse. So I continued on.

It was a bit misty this morning, which made for a pleasant subtlety to everything (aside from my crunchy rear wheel). I ended up a bit early to the first checkpoint, so I decided to hit up the coffee shack that G and I had joked about stopping at. Rolling up to the window, the barista just laughed—:”How many miles to the gallon do you get on that thing?” I told her about 3,000. She was curious about how far I was riding and how long it took me and we ended up having a pleasant little exchange while she made my drink. “Where’s your cup holder?!” She laughed when I showed her my left hand. The drink tasted exceptionally good. I’ll have to stop there again.

I met up with L and a new rider at the checkpoint and rolled out. The crunchy had subsided a bit, which was a relief in that out of earshot, out of mind kind of way. The ride in to work was a bit slower than usual, no thanks to an uncommon headwind and our new partner. It was actually really nice to take it easy, though.

Once at work, I began considering my options. I knew the hub was shot, but denial wanted me to suspect it wasn’t that bad. When I shared the news with G, J and others, the response was the same: “Dude, what’s up with you and destroying wheels?” They’ve got a good reason to ask, unfortunately… this is my fourth rear wheel that I’ve had issues with in a little over a year. Two on the Element, one on the One Way and now this one. I did a little bit of research online and quickly discovered that others had similar experiences with the same hubs… not enough grease and cheap parts do not happy results make. In the end, R took a look at it and did what he could on the spot before telling me to not ride on it… I told him I didn’t have that option… so I was told to ride home slowly and stop by his place later to see what could be done. Once back at my desk, I ordered a new wheelset. I’m hoping it’ll arrive tomorrow.

I’ll admit, I didn’t mind riding slowly. It was the first really nice day of the year… upper 70’s and a tailwind to boot. Part of me did lament not being able to hammer away with the wind at my back… but the sun made up for it. We rolled out with a group of five and hung together for eight miles along the trail. Out of shame, I hung back behind everyone. On top of the unholy crunching, my jockey wheels had started squeaking again. If I coasted, I crunched… if I pedaled, I squeaked. But, it was a good lesson in patience and pacing. Once back in town, a car passed me and honked its horn… I looked up and saw that the driver had his hand out his sunroof and was giving me a big thumbs up. It made me forget all my worries.

While R was quickly repacking the bearings, I asked what would’ve contributed to the situation. “Well, how much do you ride?” Right now, 250 a week. Otherwise about a hundred. “Yeah, that’s a lot. That’d do it, combined with crappy parts and shoddy factory assembly. You’re not a small guy, either, so you’re putting a lot of power into the pedals and torquing the crap out of things, I imagine. You probably just need to do more maintenance more often, that’s all.”

Tomorrow is Bike to Work Day. I’m excited. With the guaranteed sun, I’m certain there will be many, many people out and about. I’m even excited for the adventure of leaving home at 4 am (event obligations dictate so). As G put it, it’ll just be me and the birds on my commute. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to see the sun rise behind the mountain. Actually, now that I think about it, the timing will be perfect for such an experience. Rad.