And then some days you set out for a short recovery ride up to Federal Hill for a sandwich and a massage, but you make it less than a mile before the chain just flies right off the bicycle. Shifting has been a bit wonky for the last few rides, and I swear I was going to clean her innards soon, but alas, too late for that. I ran us home, took the car for errands, and then all of us went to the bike shop. The Surly’s going to spend the night and get a tune-up, drivetrain clean, new bar wraps, two new water bottle holders, and a new rear rack to finally replace the sad panda rack that has been broken and rattling since we got hit by that car two years ago. Sometimes your girl let’s you know she needs a little tlc, and this one surely deserves a spa day.
Today’s bike ride took me down the hill to meet C. for a long-overdue lunch. Part of St. Paul was closed for road construction, and before I even got to Mt. Royal cars were starting their pointless honks, because when you’re in a car you just have to wait, but on a bike you can just skirt around, which I did, ending up on the other side of the construction all by myself. Continue reading
I woke up early, checked the weather, saw it was going to be in the mid-1970s, and looked at my relatively empty Saturday afternoon, and got excited for a bike ride to nowhere in particular. First I hopped on the Surly and headed down to meet L. for brunch followed by some test-riding of bikes at the bike shop. She did her rounds of various commuter and hybrid bikes while I looked longingly at the clown bike and tried not to look impatient about its delivery. L. found a favorite, and I was sated with a loaner copy of the documentary film about the clown bike–yeah, this is a good shop. We parted ways and I flew down the hill to the Inner Harbor. Continue reading