Bikes. Parts. Chaos.
Dave mentioned in his last blog post about the possibility of me going to SSWC in his place after he broke his foot skateboarding at 4:30 in the morning. Well, I did not go to Stockholm. This is largely due to a very painful condition from which I suffer called Midwestern Responsibility. Oh, I thought about going --thought real hard, mind you-- and was almost there. Dr. Nick had everything set to transfer the ticket if I gave the word, I warned the lovely and talented Ms. Bloggins of my impending departure (baby, you're the greatest!), and I begged my way out of a ride I was supposed to help with this coming weekend (that being the Freeride Croozer, hosted by the Reverend Zito Jackson of The Church of Two Wheels, and which is on Saturday and starts at 4pm at Cars-R-Coffees Cykel Garage here in the MPLS. But I digress...). But then I remembered what happens when there is nobody in the office for a protracted period of time. Perhaps you've read about those people who live cloistered existences, literally walled into their meager hovels by stacks of debris accumulated over a lifetime, until one day a pile gives way and traps them for days until they finally die, but then, since they lived a cloistered existence, no one realizes they're gone, sometimes for weeks, and only then discovered because of the horrible smell eminating from their meager hovel. So with that in mind, let me paint for you this picture: Snack is in Nippon not to return until next week, Dr. Nick's bracing himself for a week of rain in Sweden, Dave's gimping about sullenly at home, and Sov's setting up camp on the still-smoldering ruins of the border territory's Back Water Canoe Area. Meanwhile there are two tradeshows looming and the usual daily stuff piling up so fast you need wings to stay above it. Yes kids, the walls are closing in and threatening to topple if not buttressed. My brain-squirrel saw the chain of events I would be setting in motion by leaving and made me realize the long term consequences of Shirking Responsibility (note: midwesterners even have a special name for this sin!). The younger, slackerer version of me would have jumped at a last minute chance to go to Sweden with my bike, damn the torpedoes and this soul sucking, 9 to 5, day in, day out boojz-wah capitalist B.S., especially if it was on the company dime and especially if my buddy who was supposed to go was laid up with a cast on his flipper! Instead I have chosen to stay and work because, well, it's the right thing to do. Ug. I feel sick. In fact, come to think of it, even if the walls did cave in there wouldn't be anybody here to bury! Dammit, where were you on that one, brain-squirrel?! And yet, there are two things that give me hope: 1) People like Dave breaking their legs skateboarding in the middle of the night when they are 37 years old. 2) And this. Oh, hell yeah! p/s// the lovely and talented ms. bloggins has read this and tells me that in reality I am still a slacker because i did not yet remove the weeds from beside the garage, something for which the city apparently has, without precedent, cited us. for my part i am raging against the machine by not removing the weeds until tomorrow, or maybe the next day. p/p/s// there is another bright spot: former Surly All American varsity squad player and glowing ball of superheated charisma Hurl Everstone will be traveling to Röckholm (wordcred: Hurl) with Dr. Nick! Brace yourselves. These two are ready to be eurotrashed. -----