update for the faithful
Cranky cannondale, broken cable, balky shifter, no good, no way, can't get to work on that granny gear and 11 tooth cog.
Back to Rich the Righteous Wrench, but before that, there's a reunion with the sweet Scott CR-1 Pro, the bike that flies when you get on it.
Hold on friend, it's morning, and I haven't seen you in awhile, and at first, it's good, then I realize I'm not in form and you start to beat me. You have no forgiveness. But I can take for an hour and change which is all a working man, home improving, fool has.
Scott, you don't make the travel team, as that is reserved for old faithful, trusty Trek, that knows its way around Santa Monica without its pilot.
So much is waiting for us. The Presidential reception at the hotel with the large tree. The Soapy Sudsy Laundry place down the street. The real Mexican breakfast burrito from the truck that is only available to those who ride before visiting.
A visit with the college-roomie who has bought a home that needs to be fixed up. He's about to become a Home Depot addict. I've been there.
Don't have another fixer upper in me, I'm one and done and 55 is it. I have seen the future of my weekends, and I see cedar shingles. Great boxes of squared, dipped, sweet-smelling cedar.
Sorry, no four-hour ride for you. No chance of hammering the bike and hammering the shingles in the same day. Too much work. Not enough energy.
There's no project Dyer 29 for me, no, no, that's not for jojo. Can't repower. Can't rebuild.
That's for men who have arrived at their destination. I'm still getting there.
Coach Josh ignores my calls, deletes my emails, ignores me. I've passed my expiration date and Coach Josh has no karma for the dog face boy.
Perhaps he knows that the future is about compressors and nail guns, ice and water shield, gotta love the koma trim, and splinters in the hands.
Grouchy, angry, unhappy Noble grouchier, angrier, unhappier. Deserted by the tall man. Left to suffer alone and in silence.
Back to Rich the Righteous Wrench, but before that, there's a reunion with the sweet Scott CR-1 Pro, the bike that flies when you get on it.
Hold on friend, it's morning, and I haven't seen you in awhile, and at first, it's good, then I realize I'm not in form and you start to beat me. You have no forgiveness. But I can take for an hour and change which is all a working man, home improving, fool has.
Scott, you don't make the travel team, as that is reserved for old faithful, trusty Trek, that knows its way around Santa Monica without its pilot.
So much is waiting for us. The Presidential reception at the hotel with the large tree. The Soapy Sudsy Laundry place down the street. The real Mexican breakfast burrito from the truck that is only available to those who ride before visiting.
A visit with the college-roomie who has bought a home that needs to be fixed up. He's about to become a Home Depot addict. I've been there.
Don't have another fixer upper in me, I'm one and done and 55 is it. I have seen the future of my weekends, and I see cedar shingles. Great boxes of squared, dipped, sweet-smelling cedar.
Sorry, no four-hour ride for you. No chance of hammering the bike and hammering the shingles in the same day. Too much work. Not enough energy.
There's no project Dyer 29 for me, no, no, that's not for jojo. Can't repower. Can't rebuild.
That's for men who have arrived at their destination. I'm still getting there.
Coach Josh ignores my calls, deletes my emails, ignores me. I've passed my expiration date and Coach Josh has no karma for the dog face boy.
Perhaps he knows that the future is about compressors and nail guns, ice and water shield, gotta love the koma trim, and splinters in the hands.
Grouchy, angry, unhappy Noble grouchier, angrier, unhappier. Deserted by the tall man. Left to suffer alone and in silence.
posted by joe berkeley at 7:23 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home