Don’t worry everyone, I won’t go as long between Fargo posts in the future. (I hear the photo geeks moaning, grinding teeth and searching for the unsubscribe.)
I’ve finally gotten out for a few short rides. Still fighting Lyme, so I’m not breaking any records, nor will I be for the foreseeable future, but I’m doing what I can. I managed to find some dirt here in good old Newport Beach, an unfinished side of the Santa Ana River Trail. The busy side is paved, but the not-so-busy side is still dirt. Not even really sure how far it runs, but I will attempt to find out. To the left of my bike is the “river.” Just play along people, it’s a concrete river, filled with things like lost luggage, shopping carts, coyotes and even a fish or two believe it or not. Nature is a stubborn thing regardless of advancing in paving technology.
And behind me you ask?
Yep, if you are going to pave everything in sight you need some concrete dammit. Why not put the plant at the epicenter? This is actually a nice ride for these parts. You ALWAYS have wind at your back on the way inland and in your face all the way back to the water. You have an assortment of other riders, walkers and homeless encampments to keep you company. When you dip under the overpasses you get a nice whiff of pee, and you get to practice dodging the glass from broken bottles. And there’s no charge!
The bike. Well, it’s great. So easy to ride. Geared for the uphill world, no surprise, but enough there for nice, sustained relatively high speed pavement action. Climbs really well both in and out of the saddle and feels stable on fast descents. I’m toying with the idea of adding brakes to the top bars because I will be on some serious downhill, singletrack over the next few months and long descents on the drops tend to waste my arms, but again I’ve got Lyme, so picking up the TV remote requires an extra hour of sleep.
This bike calls to me at night. I can hear it because I keep it inside, in my library actually, which drives my wife crazy.(Reason enough to do it right there.) “But honey, it’s lonely in the garage.” This bike calls to me because it doesn’t want to be in Newport. This bike leaves maps on my living room floor. Maps of the Southwest, or New Mexico. This bike tells me to add a rear rack and aim for Miami via the US/Mexico border. This bike left an advertisement for a waterproof backpack that would easily hold two Nikon F6’s and two lenses and a huge stock of TRI-X. This bike is evil.