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Description
Last august, I was on my way back from my weekly ride to the bank to make a deposit (riding my mountain bike). It also happened to be garbage day in that neighborhood. Always being on the lookout for keen throwaways, I spied a keen looking back wheel laying in a large pile of discardia. Upon closer inspection, I also discovered a front wheel, frame, fork, and the rest of the carcass of a very used, very old Raleigh road bike. Without thought, I picked the frame and back wheel out and continued on my way home. Promtly I returned to the pile to retrieve the front wheel and tires.

Later, at home, I inspected the new pile of metal parts I'd recovered. Everything that was necessary to build a bike was present, including tires and tubes, the cables, brakes, etc. So, I put it all together.

Since then, I've put very little cash or effort into the bike. I put on my own computer, bought a new set of handlebars and tape, an extra set of old mountain bike forks, and some new tubes. I've ridden it very little since then - just over 100 miles on it (in contrast to my mountain bike, which has logged several hundred miles since then). It's main job over the last months has been to occupy space in my basement storage space, while I dream of getting new road frame or complete bike.

For whatever reason, I decided to pump the tires up and ride it to work today. The daily 10 mile uphill battle has been kicking my ass on my 30 something pound behemoth mountain bike lately. Maybe this would be 'easier'.

It was. The ride today took a bit less effort, and took almost 15 minutes less than normal. whoa. I actually had time to make coffee at work...

The real magic came on the ride home, which is a 10 mile mostly downhill sprint. About halfway through the journey, it started to rain. Just sprinkling at first, but with about 3 miles to go, it really started coming down. Hard enough that it almost drowned out my walkman/mp3 player, the drops stinging like papercuts as they hit my face. But I could not slow down, in fact the rain coming down so hard quickened my pace (as did the occasional lighting bolt and thunder - this January in Ohio mind you).

Inersections approach, luckily the lights are green so I can bomb through them, watching out for cross traffic and cautiously banking around CARS that are in MY way - and they are not watching out for anything smaller than an SUV. I've long forgotten about the fact that I'm riding pretty slick, very skinny tires across oil slicked drenched asphalt, and that my feet are pretty much tangled into my toe clips. The tread on my hiking sneakers acting as puzzle piece anchors; my feet couldn't dismount to save the world, let alone my ass if I were to get into a "bind".

Then, no traffic. I can move to the middle of the road and start to cook. Suddenly I'm in the Tour De France, or Tour De Fifth avenue, whatever. The rain is smearing off of my glasses like how the stars all blur back when the Millenium Falcon hits hyperspace. The lightning intermitently bringing in glimpses of daytime colors, illuminating the streams of water spraying off my tires, up over my head. Now, raining just as hard, there is no sound. Pulse is coursing wildly, only interrupted by the jarring from filled in potholes, occasional cracks in the slick asphalt, and a drenched sizzle as I hydroplane through a newly flooded via dock.

Home.

Dismount, descend the steps to the basement, undo the padlock while my smoking heart is pounding about out of my chest. Lock undone, I swivel around and the bike is just looming over me. This discarded heap of chromoly, aluminum, and assorted rubber and plastic that had been rescued from the trash - just standing proud at the top of the steps.

I can't tell if it was saying to me: " thank you", or "HOW YA LIKE ME NOW?!".

It doesn't matter. The ride tonight was a treat for both of us: we were both cruising down Fifth Avenue in Columbus Ohio, but we were both a million miles away.

We nodded to eachother in mutual respect, and I tucked it back in to it's warm nest next to the furnace, and said goodnight.

Halfway up the steps, I remembered that I forgot to check the computer to see how long it all took. I continued up the steps and came inside. Rides like this don't happen very often.

Description
Last august, I was on my way back from my weekly ride to the bank to make a deposit (riding my mountain bike). It also happened to be garbage day in that neighborhood. Always being on the lookout for keen throwaways, I spied a keen looking back wheel laying in a large pile of discardia. Upon closer inspection, I also discovered a front wheel, frame, fork, and the rest of the carcass of a very used, very old Raleigh road bike. Without thought, I picked the frame and back wheel out and continued on my way home. Promtly I returned to the pile to retrieve the front wheel and tires.

Later, at home, I inspected the new pile of metal parts I'd recovered. Everything that was necessary to build a bike was present, including tires and tubes, the cables, brakes, etc. So, I put it all together.

Since then, I've put very little cash or effort into the bike. I put on my own computer, bought a new set of handlebars and tape, an extra set of old mountain bike forks, and some new tubes. I've ridden it very little since then - just over 100 miles on it (in contrast to my mountain bike, which has logged several hundred miles since then). It's main job over the last months has been to occupy space in my basement storage space, while I dream of getting new road frame or complete bike.

For whatever reason, I decided to pump the tires up and ride it to work today. The daily 10 mile uphill battle has been kicking my ass on my 30 something pound behemoth mountain bike lately. Maybe this would be 'easier'.

It was. The ride today took a bit less effort, and took almost 15 minutes less than normal. whoa. I actually had time to make coffee at work...

The real magic came on the ride home, which is a 10 mile mostly downhill sprint. About halfway through the journey, it started to rain. Just sprinkling at first, but with about 3 miles to go, it really started coming down. Hard enough that it almost drowned out my walkman/mp3 player, the drops stinging like papercuts as they hit my face. But I could not slow down, in fact the rain coming down so hard quickened my pace (as did the occasional lighting bolt and thunder - this January in Ohio mind you).

Inersections approach, luckily the lights are green so I can bomb through them, watching out for cross traffic and cautiously banking around CARS that are in MY way - and they are not watching out for anything smaller than an SUV. I've long forgotten about the fact that I'm riding pretty slick, very skinny tires across oil slicked drenched asphalt, and that my feet are pretty much tangled into my toe clips. The tread on my hiking sneakers acting as puzzle piece anchors; my feet couldn't dismount to save the world, let alone my ass if I were to get into a "bind".

Then, no traffic. I can move to the middle of the road and start to cook. Suddenly I'm in the Tour De France, or Tour De Fifth avenue, whatever. The rain is smearing off of my glasses like how the stars all blur back when the Millenium Falcon hits hyperspace. The lightning intermitently bringing in glimpses of daytime colors, illuminating the streams of water spraying off my tires, up over my head. Now, raining just as hard, there is no sound. Pulse is coursing wildly, only interrupted by the jarring from filled in potholes, occasional cracks in the slick asphalt, and a drenched sizzle as I hydroplane through a newly flooded via dock.

Home.

Dismount, descend the steps to the basement, undo the padlock while my smoking heart is pounding about out of my chest. Lock undone, I swivel around and the bike is just looming over me. This discarded heap of chromoly, aluminum, and assorted rubber and plastic that had been rescued from the trash - just standing proud at the top of the steps.

I can't tell if it was saying to me: " thank you", or "HOW YA LIKE ME NOW?!".

It doesn't matter. The ride tonight was a treat for both of us: we were both cruising down Fifth Avenue in Columbus Ohio, but we were both a million miles away.

We nodded to eachother in mutual respect, and I tucked it back in to it's warm nest next to the furnace, and said goodnight.

Halfway up the steps, I remembered that I forgot to check the computer to see how long it all took. I continued up the steps and came inside. Rides like this don't happen very often.