Seeing Red

Well, I’m officially “that guy.”

Who’s “that guy?”

Well, the guy in Lycra sitting in the waiting room at the garage waiting for his car, of course:


My hope was that that it would be ready by the time I was done riding and I could grab my shoes and modesty shorts out of it before settling up, but alas here I am, and said items are way up there on the lift. So I feel like a nude camper whose bathing suit has been run up the flagpole.

I’m also typing this on my phone. This is the first time in 35 years of bike blogging that I’ve ever attempted a post on my phone, and writing in T9 is even harder than you’d think it would be, let me tell you.

As for the ride I took, I’m pleased to report that the Milwaukee has officially made its red-color (or technically copper-color) debut:

According to my Strava red bikes are not faster, though this one certainly felt like it was. I don’t know if it was the psychological tailwind from the new finish, or the inadvertent tune-up it received during the reassembly process, or just the fact that I’ve been riding a 34 year-old bonded aluminum Trek for the past few weeks, but wow did it feel good–and I daresay it looked good, too:

Though I can’t say the same about myself:

Oh, I’m home now, so I’m back on a real computer, and so from here on in I can no longer blame typos, poor syntax, inept formatting, etc. on the fact that I was tapping away at a tiny phone screen.

Speaking of tight clothing, you may recall that I recently broke in a new stretchy outfit:

And during that ride I was threatened by a goose:

Well, on today’s ride I once again encountered the same goose family:

I was going to take refuge in this derelict porta-potty:

Which I believe I’ve featured before owing to its reassuring message:

But I figured death by goose was better than death by hot porta-potty (it was already like 80 American Freedom Degrees or something), and mercifully this time they let me go:

Best of all, I managed not to wet myself in fear, though once I was safe I found a place to relieve myself that was not a plastic box:

While the fact that the geese let me pass could mean they now recognize me and realize I’m not threatening to fatten up their offspring and make fwah grah (note to assistant–fix that) out of them, I suspect that it was my wardrobe, and that those busy gravelista patterns made them violent:

[I don’t know which is more disgraceful: my physique, my hairy legs, or my ghastly bar tape.]

Or maybe they just like the color of my bike:

With the black tires and parts it’s mostly Coca-Cola at the moment:

But with some tanwall tires and pale yellow bar tape it could go full Strawberry Cheesecake.

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