life in public; see you in the streets

So I've been playing around with a new bike--stripping an old bike down to bare frameset & moving over to a new frameset some freed-up components. Now, this project isn't done. I've still got some substantial improvements to make on the functionality of this ride. But yesterday, a big test.

Started by letting her take me from Goldrush on MLK west on Russell to Vancouver, south 'til a quick jog on Broadway to the bridge, then up Lovejoy to 23rd so I could grab some Escape from New York. Her first trip across the river! (Got asked after lunch there some questions about riding a coaster brake, some bike messenger who told me "I wouldn't know what it's like, man, I haven't touched one since I was, like, five." Wow, that's tough! Five! Man, I wasn't even riding bikes when I was five, let alone graduating to the Italian track bike I'm sure he moved immediately on up to.)

And then down Everett, back east towards the river. Needed to pick a bridge, and since it was rush hour, I shunned the commuter-clotted Hawthorne and settled for the Burnside. Along the way to the bridge, I got to chat with this pretty young lady who wondered why I didn't weave through traffic more, splitting lanes to get to the front of the line. I admitted that sometimes I'm more aggressive, and blamed my passivity on my hangover. (This conversation sorta sucked, since to regain my challenged dignity, I had to ride the bridge 'way harder than I really felt like, just to make sure I was going too fast for her to overtake me. Call me a sissy, will ya, lady?) Another quick jog on MLK, over to Ankeny, then south on 20th for a surprisingly mellow straightaway (20th between Stark and Morrison is so blowful that I simply can't imagine why I continue to ride it). After Hawthorne, I skirted Ladd's, another little zig across Division, then east on Clinton for that little hill up to the K&F for a little coffee before hitting up Green Noise.

Fifty bucks and a bulky record-package later, I was over to Silken's place, snickering at his bottom bracket woes. We ran into pal Jeff Bastard, and I dragged him off to MFP on the false assumption that it was dollar tall can night. After a few hours, Bastard bailed, Tad showed, the beers were cold and far too plentiful.

Eventually I decamped from my MFP booth-throne and grabbed a six of talls, tube of Pringles at the Plaid. Choosing just the right Pringles put me up against the beer clock, and garnered me some moderate scorn from the nice register jockey lady. Shrugged out and rolled up MLK north of Goldrush to Casa del Collision.

And hell, if a bike can do all that, then I've already achieved the jazzy weekend number I'd been looking for, right? A good day.