Wednesday Daydream

My commuter bike has been out of action for a couple weeks. It's been a bummer.

The cables are stretched. The chain is stretched. Everything's stretched. If I were compelled to weigh the condition of my brake pads against a living or deceased person, I would select deceased. Probably someone from the 80's, nonetheless. The 1380's.

The bottom bracket started making noise about a month ago. I was hoping to get a little more use out of the bearings, so I pushed it. And it got worse. So I continued to push it. And it got much worse.

Riding to work became more of a chore than simply riding to work. Pedaling was more difficult. The peaceful sounds of morning nothingness were drowned out by what can essentially be summed up as my procrastination.

Take a few Wednesdays ago, for example:

The wind on Route 68 at a minimum; the traffic a bit heavy for 6:30AM. I climb over a small roller a mile outside of Evans City. I look off to my right. The sun's rays cross miles of trees and healthy green farmland. They refract through the cool morning fog and bounce through the easterly cornucopia of life. Their destination? My sweaty face. A welcomed feeling.

Another mile of fast descending; my face is now dry. I cross a quick bridge and coast to the base of Buhl Hill. I start pedaling up the grade, and all of a sudden I'm on the Thunderbolt at Kennywood. The rattle and grind of grit and dry bearings perfectly mimicking any and all acoustics produced by the famous coaster's decades-old chain-lift.

My dangerous daydream continues, and the sound of the three-ton chain keeps me on the coaster. I get hungry for Potato Patch fries. My drop bars start to feel more like the 'Bolt's black rubber bar that has been subjected to thousands of death grips over the years. I'm ascending. The front seat is the best seat, and I'm there. I start to raise my arms, ready for the downhill. A semi screams past, barreling up the hill, ripping me back to reality. Visions of Noah's Ark and The Whip whip out of my mind. My bottom bracket howls back at the 18-wheeler, and I swear the driver flinches. I win.

My lack of maintenance and subsequent bill on parts reminds me that I still lose.

So, the Cross-Check has been relegated to the basement bicycle dungeon for the time being. I've been able to spend more time on my Fargo, though. It's actually been pretty fun to ride on the road with flat pedals and two racks while carrying nothing.

I've been wearing these Keen CNX sandal/shoe/webbed foot protector things. They're like Chacos. So far, they've been pretty enjoyable to ride in. Ry and I did an 80 mile ride up Route 19, through Moraine, then back south. Not before stopping in Harmony for some espresso, though. They held up well and didn't slip all over the place. I'm super happy with them.

Aside from the biking stuff, I have a bunch of photos that I need to get together and post. I'm bummed this thing is all text. Google Bots like text, and that leads to fake page views, and that leads me to believing this blog is more popular than it actually is. 

Still, I need to post more. And I want to. An ever-so-small inkling tells me to. So, I'm going to. But I'm only riding a few times per week, so I'll have to delve into adventures other than the ones that include two wheels and headwinds. I have to strive to impress my audience of Google Bots, after all :P

As for the title? We'll still call this thing Perpetual Motion, though at times "Inconsistent Motion Sprinkled with Other Stuff" may be more fitting.