Knocking Off the Rust

“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving” - Albert Einstein

Took the bike on the streets this evening to see which of us was rustier. It was kind of a draw.

My balance is a little shaky, but riding a bike is like... well... you know. I'll be fine.

I got most of the iron oxide off the bike without resorting to the disturbingly titled condiment pictured, but the bike has some other issues. (So does it actually come from there? is it made from lint? and what is it's relationship to toe jam? and which goes better with chunky Jiff? I've checked Smucker's and Welch's, but no info on this mystery goo or it's origins.)

Right, the bike. The front wheel is a little out of true. I should be able to fix this. It isn't nearly bad enough to need replacing.

The crank has a wiggle in it that makes me think it is a bit bent as well. Again, I can fiddle with the front dérailleur handle enough to compensate.

The brake shoes need to be replaced. The previous owner did mix and matching with the shoes and I want to feel more confident than I do about them. I'll get replacements after payday. All the new cables will have stretched out by then and need adjusting anyway.

I hate the kickstand. It always seems to be in the way and does very little to hold the bike up. I'd really like to ditch it, but I'll leave it on for a week to see if I use it for anything other than cussing at.

I also think that the headset is a little loose. My old ten-speed used to stand true when you held the seat or leaned it against a wall, but this machine, which has straight Mountain-bike style handlebars spins really freely. It may need an overhaul, but I'll do some more research before messing with this. I have no enthusiasm for chasing ball-bearings all over the driveway.

That's pretty much it. I got a very silly looking flag for the back, and received one "Hey Big Sexy" taunt from a carload of beered up boys leaving the ballpark. I'm OK with that. I want motorists to see me. I'm enough of a misanthrope not to care what they think about my personal style. Besides, in a year when I've built my body into 300 pounds of rippling man-meat, I'll just pull hecklers out through the windows of their cars and feed their guts to the neighborhood pit bulls. (Molly's tastes are too refined for such rough types.)

I haven't quite sorted out how I'm going to carry work clothes in the morning. I'll start out with a backpack, but the next financial windfall that comes our way is going for some panniers.

It now takes $50 to fill my little Honda with gas, which I only do twice in a normal month. If I bike to work and back, I'll be saving a lot of money.

That along with all the other altruistic reasons to burn body fat instead of fossile fuel
makes a pretty strong case. Now if I can just convince the boss to install a shower in my office.

Peace,
Pennsy.