Andy: Frustration

We all know the feeling. The kids have finally gone off to bed, the dog's overnight at the vet for some fungal thing, and the Old Man stopped flicking buttons at your window for one reason or another. You have the house to yourself, and there is only one thing on your mind: Bacon. You want to eat bacon at 11:00 PM because damnit, it's your house, and you're hungry for a BLT with no mayo. Good thing you went to the store to pick up a few savory strips this afterno-- Oh wait. You forgot. No bigs, you can just hire the weird kid with the eye patch to carry you to the store, it will only take ten minutes, then you'll be in Bacon Heaven (which is like regular heaven, but it's covered with a thick layer of delicious.) Oh wait. The store closed at 11:09. No bacon. But at least the eye patch kid waited to carry you ho--- Oh wait. He left. Now you have to walk the two blocks. Well, your night isn't totally ruined, they're showing reenactments of the Michael Jackson Trial on E! and it's verdict night! There's still hop-- Oh wait. E! got taken over by angry unionized janitors and they're picketing right in front of the cameras. There is nothing left for you. Just go to bed. You have wake up to work at the factory tomorrow for less than minimum wage.

So, what does that story have to do with Andy's Bicycle riding experience? One thing: Frustration. My spoke broke (which rhymes and leads one to believe that the experience of a dismembered wheel is goofy and fun instead of dumb and boring.) It happened only one time at least, which was nice. Except that after I fixed it, it broke again, so I guess I was lying when I said it broke only once. Oh well. Riding with a broken spoke causes the wheel to get all wobbly pobbly and graze the brakes during each rotation. This constant lack of momentum made the Already-Slow-Andy transform into the Magically Unreasonably-Slow-Andy.

So I got the spoke fixed again, this time professionally (I was taking no chances). but the repetitive grinding against the brakes required me to get new brake pads as well (although the prospect of being unable to stop is intriguing in an addicted-to-risk sort of way.) So, how could I prevent this from becoming a regular weekly ritual? I had too much weight on the back of my bike, and I needed to redistribute. The solution? Front rack and front panniers.

Okay, now, I go to four different bike shops in the area and find one with a front rack, and so I bought it. Little did I know that this particular rack had one feature I didn't see on the box: Sucking. It was complicated to put together and eventually I gave up and went back to one more bike shop looking for an easier solution (like hiring a wizard to turn me into a bird so I could fly into the sun).

MEANWHILE, The source of the excessive rear weight, my beloved Banjo, had a busted string and literally drooped out the back of my bike like a depressed doggy tail, bungeed down so it could not wag. Without the high D, it's as useless as a box of mushrooms in an Andy Factory (I don't care for mushrooms).

I was upset and setting the whole team hours behind schedule with my shennanigans.

How does one recover from such profound frustration? Well, for me, the answer came in the form of the my idiot friends and the Blue Heron, a little bike shop in downtown Eugene. I returned my dumb rack and got a smart one, plus two crappy panniers that will do any trick I ask them to, then a couple of dummies I ride bikes with got me my B-jo string as a nice surprise. Thanks morons. Have fun on the Stupid train to Buttville.

I'm feeling good now, so I don't want your pity. Give that to the poor (instead of food).

PS, I love you family. This blog was for you. I am actually having fun, I promise.

Loves and Kissys.
Andy Junk