It's also something I wish I was passionate about.
Turns out I'm not.
I wouldn't go as far as saying wrenching makes me wretch, but it definitely falls prey to the pull of gravity more often than other tasks, sinking to the bottom of the to-do list time and time again.
202 days ago, this beauty nail took its toll on my rear Kevlar tire.
198 days ago, I replaced the tube.
The following 180 days were pure gravy — I'm pretty sure I didn't even put air in the tire.
Then, 18 days ago, the inevitable happened. The 6-month-old tube finally worked its way through the nail-torn hole in the tread, letting loose a depressing sigh as it slowly deflated in front of me.
My solution was obvious — use Katie's old, small, rusted mountain bike instead.
After nearly three weeks of slogging around on knobby tires with my knees hitting my ears, I'd had just about enough. But I didn't actually stop until her rear rack lost a nut and started dragging on the ground, making the bike inoperable.
Damn!
So here it is, just after 10 p.m. on a Wednesday night, and I've just come in from replacing my tube (which I bent the valve on) and tread (which I'm fairly certain I put on backwards) in the darkness of City Square.
Is procrastination worth it? I dunno.
I'll tell you what I think after spending the next six-months riding on a backwards tire with a bent, slowly leaking valve.
No comments:
Post a Comment