Wow!

My boy’s asked Santa Claus (well really it’s the Three Wise Kings here) for this little beast:

Me thinks I gotta SMART boy!

Toys

Excess. Need. What is excessive? Too much? Needed?

I’m obsessed, it seems, for now. But I’ve been hanging in there, stopping myself from jumping head-first through the exhibit glass of the my LBS and hopping onto that road bike.

But I’m too much of a coward. I can’t make up my mind or deal with my guilt. Do I really need a road bike? How foolish. None of that is needed. None of this…yet I never imagined one Saturday morning ride with my kids last year would change my life the way it did. I like riding my bike. I really do but this winter will be a long one.

Will my obsession last longer?

Wretches

I’ve no idea why tools should scare anyone. Around here, though, a mere Allen wrench -- in my hand -- is cause for mutiny.

"Mom, Dad’s got your bike discombobulated!"

Now isn’t that what we called squealing squealers back somewhere then?

So I’ve taken the wheel off -- off my wife’s bike (god forbid I did that to my little Piglet) -- and there seems to be cause for alarm.

"Mom, you won’t be riding this weekend."

That was my daughter (little “$%&%$!!!). But my son comes to the rescue. "You’re not riding for sure, Mom!"

Little &"·!;%$&%”!!! Why bring them to the world? Why love them? You can say goodbye to that ivy league community college edu on my account, little squealing b...bikers!

Ok. I can’t couldn’t true the wheel…and now it’s like some sort of round snake, sinuous thing, biting its own tale. It’s still round, though, for God’s sake!

Wrenches.