A couple weeks ago my chirping chain finally impelled me to go pick up some new chain lube. I headed to the bike shoppe on Frenchman and walked into a crowd of those bike shop guys–the ones who drink cheap beer, ride expensive bikes, and would totally be friends with Kevin Bacon if this were Quicksilver. Somebody in here was about to sell me some seriously high class chain lube, and I was in the mood to be sold. I walked out with my $11 bottle of the unfortunately-named Rock ‘n’ Roll Gold lube and promptly ignored my chain for another two weeks. But the other night I was just tipsy enough to want to spend a lot of time with my chain, and now the thing is running so smoothly. Riding home tonight from a most lovely evening with S., talking about Bruce, learning languages, teaching the hard stuff, and watching her favorite scenes from Glee, I just got in that rhythm, that one that feels like climbing and the turns make you feel like you might actually be Kevin Bacon, even if tonight you’re in an awkward pair of tights and skirt that’s riding up and the wrong color of socks. I rode up Baronne and over this fork in the road. I’ve ridden over this fork a zillion times, and I always notice it, but roll on through the light without snapping a picture. I stopped to take one tonight, thinking that yeah, sometimes it’s the little things.