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Bikes. Parts. Chaos.
One of Surly's many field correspondents, Chris Alabama, recently sent us this missive. I thought you might like it so I'm posting it, although if you're eating maybe wait until later to read it. You'll see. Have fun out there, and have a tolerable Festivus. I really, honestly, don't understand TV. It seems like people use it like a drug--to escape from reality. I also don't understand people who believe there's an "off-season" for riding. I can understand people who aren't that into it, and would rather do something else for a change, but if you want to ride what's stoping you? I, like you, go crazy if I don't get out and pedal something around. Which reminds me of this man who used to live in Grand Junction. When I knew him, he was an old man. He used to ride a claped out POS townie around for no apparant reason, and thus, he was a bit of an outcast. Later in his life, he lost the ability to balance and began to push his bike around. Feeling sorry for his father, his son went to Brown Cycles and bought the man a tricycle. The man happily pedaled this heavy-ass, blue tricycle daily. As the man grew older, he was no longer strong enough to pedal the tricycle and returned to pushing his old townie. Weeks later he died. Why the man never gave up and retired to a chair in front of a TV I don't know . . but someday, I hope to find out: that's how I wanna die. I want to go down actually doing something. And since I don't know when I'm gonna go, couch surfers can fuck off. Or, even better, they can just wait for the next reality show and watch me do something they, too, are capable of. Well, I got bogged down with a bit of angry, single-speed, bitterness, and gotta take a shit. I hope it smells so bad that the toilet melts. Which reminds me: never through a fire-cracker in the toilet. I may seem like a good idea, but it is not. Bama -----