Brought to you by the makers of Woodford Reserve Bourbon. “If there’s anything smoother, I can’t afford it”.
My morning commute always starts at night. It’s all in the prep. Checking gear and clothing is essential. Several weeks ago, I ripped my chain in two on my favorite winter time commuter and never got around to fixing it. I simply brought up another bike from the minors, but I always like to have every bike I own ready to mobilize at a minutes notice. When I was a messenger I lived by that rule. If I can’t ride, I can’t earn, so I always had a back-up ready just in case.
I picked up a new chain and a couple of master links for good measure the other day and broke the news to my wife that I needed to commandeer the dining room to reinstall the chain. I like having a multi-purpose living space, my wife; not so much. After measuring, cutting and reinstalling, it’s ready for service. I go to bed with a smile and dream of bike lanes so wide you couldn’t throw a stone across them.
Before my alarm does its shtick; the wind, rain, and tree’s working in unison start violently calling for my ass. The scene is very reminiscent of Luther in “The Warriors” clinging bottles together asking the rival gang to come out to play. I lay awake for the next hour.
It’s show time. As I finish gussying up in the mirror, I linger a little too long. With my balaclava on I look like a knight about to get his ass handed to him. On days when the weather is acting up, my tradition is to take a shot of whatever’s close. Takes the edge off and tastes yummy to. Bourbon is far more effective than electrolytes on days like these.
I get to the lip of my bat cave to see Santa with an extension chord wrapped around his neck laying on his side. What kind of world is this? I wonder what my travels will have in store for me. Within a block, I’m crossing a body of water. I get my first taste of fresh runoff. Trash cans are all over the place. Turns the road into a course. I turn out of my neighborhood on to the first stretch of open unprotected road. I notice an unfamiliar feeling. It’s windy yet, I’m not struggling. It strikes me that I have a tailwind. This occurrence is rare, but I’m sure it was predicted on the Mayan calendar. I can practically sit up and sail. The bourbon kicked in before I left the house and with my aerobic efforts has touched every piece of me. All to say, I’m feeling nice.
The rain held back until a mile from work. I can live with that. I run into my friend in the parking lot. She tells me that she spilled coffee in her car and had to stand out in the rain cleaning it out. As I’m wringing out my fingernails, I just look at her and stare. She walks away. I hang up my stuff to dry and leash-up to the desk.