South

Cracked skin knuckles from washing hands in Dawn and Gojo a dozen times a day, repairing broken axle Mongeese and other sub-bike shop bikes, ridden hard all winter.  Next, assemble a twenty five pound full-suspension twenty niner.  Everyone drools over themselves, picking it up with two fingers by the saddle and handlebars.  “I guess it’s neat”, is my usual response to these kinds of things.  I’ve freed myself from the reigns of Sheldon and Grant and Jobst and Jan, but I’m still not swallowing 25 lb. twentyniners with a single fork stanchion and a proprietary stem with only one aftermarket option.

Not much outside time these days, but plenty to come.  I’ll be warming my face, heading south into the day’s sun.