August 12, 2003 Throwback blog post, with a hint of current events.

I don’t know when I’ll receive the new bike or whether I’ll have all the parts ready to build it once it arrives, but I thought it’d be fun to post my Masi for sale online and watch the fish nibble. I don’t see myself doing any major rides until the spring, and I’d still have my Ridley.

Unfortunately for potential buyers, bargaining with me is like bargaining with The Soup Nazi.

Why do people think I should lower my asking price because the bike isn’t exactly what they were looking for? Want a bike with disc brakes? Then you’re looking at the wrong ad! I don’t go to a coffee shop, buy a cookie and go, “Actually, I really wanted a donut. Could you give me a discount on this cookie to compensate for my disappointment?”

NO MASI FOR YOU!

This bike is more cultured than you.

I already need a break from those people, so I’ve deleted the ad. I’m personally using the “you get what you pay for” approach with a handbuilt frame, custom paint job, and individual components so that my bike will be exactly how I want it. The Horse will make the Masi redundant, but I still love the Masi enough that I’d sooner keep it than sell it below my asking price to some annoying tit.

When I sold a bong via Craigslist years ago, I had no qualms about selling it to a teenager as she was prompt and polite. I hope she’s had wonderful times with that bong and that it didn’t lead to a life of indecency or asthma. All that’s to say, I’m just not cash-hungry.

In further impending news, the landlord has requested entry to inspect the bedroom window, as the seals might’ve gotten damaged from the neighbouring fire. This means someone’s going to see the hunk of plastic (climbing training board) above the doorframe and think, “What the fuck?” Then they’ll paddle us, as landlords are wont to do, for Swiss cheesing their building.

I may provide distraction by placing nudes along the baseboard. Or does it matter? The melted window seals are the issue here.

To polish off today’s post, I have a Throwback post that was requested by Gator after she re-read the one I posted two weeks ago. Although I hadn’t edited any of the previous Throwback posts, this one made me feel embarrassed 17 years late. I don’t think I like who I was pre-2005, but I’m glad Gator did and that I didn’t die inside her gothy 1984 Grand Prix.

Continue reading “August 12, 2003 Throwback blog post, with a hint of current events.”

A week of recklessness.

I nearly made a trip-to-the-hospital mistake at work on Tuesday. I was checking the chain tension on a fixie by springboarding my fingertips on the top as I turned the crank. As my fingers were bouncing off the chain, the tip of my thumb began to get sucked in. I reflexively jerked back my hand before the drivetrain trapped it.

A fixie differs from a single speed in that the cog is tied to the motion of the pedals. Single speed bikes have a freewheel that allows you to coast downhill without pedalling like the devil to keep up with the spinning rear wheel. Ergo, the force generated by the spinning rear wheel of a fixie is strong enough to gobble up a digit or two.

I told a co-worker about the accident that almost was, and his response was: “Oh, yeah, that would have been really bad. People lose their fingers. There’s a website featuring photos of mangled mitts that were fed through the drivetrain.” (I’m paraphrasing.)

I don’t touch fixies often (they’re not as popular in Victoria as in Montréal), so I had let my guard down.

Yann says his shoelaces once got sucked into the drivetrain while riding a fixie: “My shoelaces broke, but my foot turned blue.”

Then, Wednesday morning, on my way to work, I nearly found myself in a visit-with-the-police situation.

Continue reading “A week of recklessness.”

I’m an approachable snob.

My 2nd week back at work is done with. It’s gotten easier being on my feet all day, but as apparent from my last two posts, returning to the public eye has been agonizing. After a year of getting away with being a plainclothes employee, I’ve been ordered to wear the work-issued tee. I don’t have any complaints about the tee itself: it’s tasteful, but I do not like that it makes me more approachable. I haven’t been this unapproachable, mentally, in years. Yann is the only person who I can comfortably make eye contact with right now.

Yet, I also suggested that Yann use his sewing machine to make alterations to the t-shirt, making it smaller every week so that it’ll look like all the training I’ve been doing at home has paid off.

Do I want attention or not?

Imagine customers coming into the bike shop and seeing us in “work-issued” crop tops? But I jest. I still dream of getting a tinted full-face shield.

Continue reading “I’m an approachable snob.”