Around my home, 20 km. Things have been falling from the sky. First, dust particles aka haze. And the sky is rumbling today, which means rain is on the way. I head out anyway. Not on my new toy, but my nine-year old bicycle.
It's funny how having a gleaming new toy has made me more interested in cycling. And not with my new toy, but with you. I suppose most people would've cast you aside after putting down good money on something new. But I wouldn't have sought out something new, if I was sure you weren't going to break down and leave me stranded thousands of miles away from home. Or worse, break and get me maimed or killed.
Because old is gold. And silver? Fortunate babies are born with silver spoons. And those who live long enough, get silver-haired.
Nine years, almost 43,000 km. What a journey! Few things (or relationships) last that long.
Back home, I unscrew you and lube your shifters after the grease in you got gummy. The way I've been doing for sometime, to restore you, so that we can click together.
I've looked after you, and you've looked after me. But I know you're weary. While I can fix some things, like lube and replace an exploding rim, what can I do about your very soul, your frame?
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