Author Topic: Forgotten but not gone

Forgotten but not gone
« on: June 01, 2020 »
What is there to say? I’ve been sitting in the entirely too rustic shed, nominally a garage, for months now. Waiting.

This would be an improvement

The “good” bike goes in the house. Out here is where Langster, little folding Presto, and I spend our idle hours. And let's not forget Bike Friday in 'Power Purple', as well as Kalkhoff, in who knows what state, both belonging to her inside.

With London out of the picture for the foreseeable, Presto doesn’t even get to stretch her chain. She looks uncomfortable. Langster, on the other hand, is afforded the opportunity to enjoy the fresh air when the roads have a sheen of wet. Enigma is such a wimp, has to keep that precious chain unsullied by spray.

It’s undignified here in the garage, with crumpled old shopping carriers as mitts and saddle cover in a parody of stewardship. I’m chained to the wall and Langster is D-locked to a ladder. Should a delivery van come crashing through, we're toast. Presto is merely hobbled by a lock in the rear wheel (the thinking apparently being at least it can’t be ridden away if a thief should come calling), so might conceivably be catapulted to freedom.

We keep company with retired wheels and other odd parts, a helmet, a lawn mower and strimmer, bags of litter for the rabbit (also inside with the rest of truly treasured family), and anything else that needs storing out of the way when not in use.

How useful I feel

Did I mention tarp hanging from the ceiling to capture debris, or the vines creeping through the gaps in the walls? This garage requires the services of a gardener, along with Marie Kondo. Squirrels also take shelter from time to time, prisoners of nothing but their appetite.

It's hard to believe I came with such a fine pedigree: built up by Rouleur founding editor Guy Andrews no less, which puts me at precious few degrees of separation from all kinds of cycling greats. Their riders, too.

“Use me please!” I’d shout if it wasn’t so unbecoming. Even life on a turbo {shudder} would be better than this.

The problem? A noise that defies diagnosis: a creaking like the gates of hell opening. We're beginning to suspect an honest-to-god gremlin. One fine day the tool box will come out again, and an answer will be found.

I wait for that day.