Oh, you had better believe it buddy. The last three years have been nothing short of hell. So glad that it’s over.
A few years back I figured out trying to ship a bike back and forth across the country was a giant sized pain in the ass. And don’t get me started with dragging a bike with you on plane. The word nightmare comes to mind. So, my man Justin had this old Trek road bike. 62cm. He said, “Gimmie $150 and it’s yours.” Done & done. I put on some DA 180’s I had collecting dust, some calipers I had in a bucket of parts, and a new 8 speed cassette. Then I put it in a box and a shipped it to my parents house. And then I left it there. You know what? That bikes does exactly what I expect it to do, year after year after year.
5:30 am, everyone is asleep, I’m awake, and she’s right there in the garage. Hit ‘er with 8 bars on the Silca and point ‘er east. The shifting never needs any attention. None. It just works.
This road wasn’t my first choice. In fact, I wouldn’t have touched it save the bridge down in Carversville is being repaired. Stupid is as stupid does. Gravel roads are buns. Early morning sun cutting across the tops of the corn row, humidity so thick it looks like fog to my desert dwelling ass. Man, I feel like a god damn rock star.
Yeah, I’m flying the new kit. My folks place to Jersey is like eight miles as the crow flies, maybe 12 on pavement, and six and a half hours as the fat back pedals. Who’s hitting Jersey with the guido fist pumps? Color me orange.
Over in New Jersey they have this awesome path along the Delaware canal. I have no idea how far it goes in either direction. Pesumedly to the ends of the earth. How would I know? I’m a fat, out of shape never-has-been.
Wide shoulder, low traffic, and two Clif bars in my pocket. Son, like doesn’t get much better than this. Did I mention I’ve got a case of beer on ice back at my old man’s place? Yeah. I’ve been good too long.by