Thimblerig

So in the last two months I have broken two bikes and fixed three. Does it turn me off of two wheel transportation?

Well my pocket book would be the best person to answer that. But actually, it is a little frightening to consider my pocket book anthropomorphized. The best description would most likely be a quiet dainty church going 73 year old woman with fits of heroin abuse. Not pretty. So best not to ask anyway. Rather lets just extend the two wheel addiction, because certainly it does feed itself.

I broke my commuter bike, a Marin Novato, by almost tearing the frame in two by climbing a hill on the way to school. But the company replaces in with a Point Reyes frame and a disc break. So you guys are like paying me money to destroy products that I buy from you?

Also there is a certain synchronicity that can't be avoided with the whole thing. Last year I bent my Jamis Ventura's back wheel making my last ascent into Monroe WI. Hot bike, Thanks Dad! After many months of winter I finally fixed it, just in time to send the Marin to the factory for a possible warranty replacement.

And then just two days ago in Fitchburg, south of Madison, I am humming along on the Jamis. Now I have been feeling rough the first half hour out. Heart rate up around 160, but my speed is puttering just south of twenty miles an hour. Then that track comes in. You know, that fucking sweet ass trance track that gets your arm hair standing up. You never admit to your friends (What? Dude that synth line is weak! I don't listen to shit like that), but secretly your palms get a little sweaty and the foot a little heavier on the gas. The body just starts to feel it and I drop the torque down on the bike. Not the crazy hammering, with the legs and arms wobbily, trying to find a rhythm out of the new application of power. No, the smooth roll on, steady torque increase out of the corner.

SPRONG!, Another spoke in the rear wheel goes. That makes a 10 mile ride back home with a self-braking bike. Once every revolution the bent wheel rubs on the brake. The only time I have been passed by a Colagno. Hamstrung, I admit defeat. Burning italian bikes is my trade.

But two days later the Marin returns from the factory. Full dealer warranty on the frame. Oh no, it wasn't the weather, it wasn't any bmx bullshit. That was funhouser tearing your shit apart. Now give me a new frame, I got some Italians to hunt.