| 2012.04.23 |
Yesterday the weather was gorgeous, AND I had a fantastic opportunity for alone time
laid right at my feet: kiddo was out with friends and my wife went upstairs to nap.
Time for a little ride.
I crept down to the basement to retrieve the Bianchi. In our mud room
I reinflated the tires and reattached its computer. Then I went out to the garage to
retrieve my cycling gear from it's bin.
It wasn't there.
I went upstairs to look for it in a drawer.
It wasn't there either.
Chances are very good it's somewhere in a box in our storage room. Some
months ago my wife organized that room in a way that only she understands, and did
it in such a way that she managed to face a number of the sides which list each
box's contents toward the wall. So I'm downstairs looking at a boatload of boxes
on shelves that all say the same thing — the name of the moving company — and
that's it. I can't ride without at least the cleats and skins.
I eventually came back upstairs in defeat. My bike sits, ready to go,
in my living room. At some point this week we (and I do mean we)
will have to find my cycling gear so I can put them to good use should an
opportunity arise.
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