Yesterday I took a grey ride through the park on the Brompton, which can only mean one thing:
It was time to retrieve THE CAR THE BANK NO LONGER OWNS BECAUSE I FINISHED PAYING THEM BACK, AND THAT I ACKNOWLEDGE OWNING BECAUSE NOT TO DO SO SEEMS KINDA WISHY-WASHY from the auto mechanic.
I won’t bore you with the details (though if you’re having your own electrical problems with a similar car I’d be happy to share them in the comments), but after much sleuthing it appears that the source of my Electric Chupacabra was a malfunctioning audio head unit, and my local garage remedied the situation by disabling said component via a precision fuse extraction for the cost of exactly zero (0) dollars. Of course now I can’t use the car stereo, but that is easily remedied by either duct-taping a Bluetooth speaker to my dashboard, or else spending thousands of dollars on the installation of the aftermarket audio system of my dreams. (Though having watched several how-to videos on YouTube on removing the head unit I now see how easy it is and could probably steal a replacement for myself rather easily.)
Anyway, the weather was grey (as I previously mentioned) and also pretty drizzly, and when you’re riding an English bicycle in English weather it’s mandatory to wear your Inspector Gadget jacket:
This is the Brooks John Boultbee Criterion Collection Jacket or something, which I can’t link to because I don’t even think they offer it anymore. Some years back Brooks had an actual human tailor with a handkerchief in his pocket measure me for it while I was visiting London (it’s amazing to think I was once relevant enough to travel to London in order to promote books and to be measured by tailors like some sort of globe-trotting dandy), and unlike my career I must say it’s held up rather well–apart from the lining, that is, which is torn in several places. But I suppose the sorts of globe-trotting dandies who write books and wear custom-tailored jackets probably have their linings replaced regularly. They probably also have their jackets cleaned, which I have not done at any point during my proprietorship of this fine garment.
I’d also imagine that the sorts of people who wear custom-tailored jackets and ride Bromptons do stuff like ride them around London making social calls and visiting pubs, whereas I was riding through the woods looking more like a yeti who had found the garment in the trash:
Speaking of the woods, I sometimes feel guilty for riding on trails I’m not “supposed” to be riding. But then I come upon a tableau like this, and realize just how innocuous my behavior is:
Must have been quite a party:
They even dared invoke The Power Of The Claw:
As a friend informed me not too long ago…
From the looks of that mess, no there ain’t indeed.
I definitely chose the right Specialized.